


Lead Butterfly

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (briefly i mean its historically accurate or something), Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Branding, Brothels, Calvin - Freeform, Charlotte Tomlinson - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felicite Tomlinson - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's a big pirate Crew, Jay Tomlinson - Freeform, Kidnapping, Logan Thompson - Freeform, Louis Walsh - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Other Assorted Popstars and Friends of Louis, Panic Attacks, Pirate Harry, Pirates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, Taylor Swift - Freeform, Torture, Ummm this isn't as bad as it sounds?, bebe rexha - Freeform, not the kinky kind, oli - Freeform, steve aoki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Dawn breaks on a cloudy bleak morning sky. Salty mist sprays up with the swell of the waves and buffets all of the lonely sleepy ships that drift as their sailors sleep on.The Lady Charlotte dips and rises as it moves through the mist in the hopes of a clearly sky. The black flag flaps lazily from the highest mast, the emblem of the sparrow only a shadow from down on deck.When the ship Harry lives on is boarded and overtaken by the crew of The Lady Charlotte, he thinks it’s going to be the end of the line. What he’s not expecting is to be brought onto the ship and provided safe passage. At least, as long as no one finds they’ve mistaken a common pirate for a noble.





	Lead Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the day has finally come! I started writing this fic in early 2015 but I honestly didn't think it would ever be finished. 
> 
> Big thanks to my many supportive friends in many group chats who offered supportive words through my complaining and my many snippets sent. Extra big thanks to Jessie (not that she'll ever read this message) for being that weird non-fandom real-life friend who reads and betas all my shit anyway, the entire time going "is this a fandom reference? I don't even know who these people are. Add a comma there."
> 
> The wonderful, sweet, supportive, kind, beautiful Keri [icanhazzalou](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com) is my artist for this fic, and has done the most GORGEOUS collages that represent this fic so beautifully. Her post is [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/173074415276/lead-butterfly-written-by-londonfoginacup-art-by) and you all should reblog it.
> 
> Remember, read tags carefully! And be kind with your words please. All the love! xx

Dawn breaks on a cloudy bleak morning sky. Salty mist sprays up with the swell of the waves and buffets all of the lonely sleepy ships that drift as their sailors sleep on.

The Lady Charlotte dips and rises as it moves through the mist in the hopes of a clearly sky. The black flag flaps lazily from the highest mast, the emblem of the sparrow only a shadow from down on deck.

The mist has provided a nice cover since the early hours of the morning, however, and the captain of the Lady Charlotte thanks his lucky stars (Calliope and Delphinus, respectively) that they’ve been able to trail _The Modest_ at such a close distance for the better part of the night. His men were getting antsy for dry land and its promise of pubs and women, and with the haul he’s sure they can procure from _The Modest_ , they’ll all be able to take a long weekend.

The rest of the crew continues to slumber peacefully below deck as their captain steers the ship. By his measurements, the fog is unlikely to break until mid-morning, and _The Modest_ will have never seen it coming.

—

The thing is, of course Harry feels bad for the aristocrats that they hold for ransom. Of course he hopes for the best, that they get back home safely. But until that time, they're all stuck down in the holding room with him, and he loves the company. He loves it because he can pretend, if only for a moment, that he's one of them. Pretend that someone on land is looking for him, willing to give the necessary amount to get him back, no matter the cost. He can pretend that this isn't really his home, his future.

The aristocrats hate him, mostly. They'll spit on him when he delivers their food, yell things about _what a monster he is, just like the rest of those pirates,_ attempt to kick him as he walks by.

For the most part they don't seem to notice that he sleeps down here with them once night descends, that food for him is only what they've left in their bowls. It doesn't matter. It's still better treatment than he gets from the rest of the crew.

With this particular batch of high society that the crew has managed to procure, at least, there's one who shows him a kind eye. He's at the very end of the room, one of the last to get soup (cabbage, always cabbage) when Harry dishes it out.

Going down the line handing out dinner, more than a couple prisoners have managed to aim well enough to spit on his face (is this something aristocrats are trained in?), and Harry is planning on holing himself up in the corner of the room to attempt to scrub as much of it off while waiting for them to finish eating. He almost misses the last one in line saying something to him- does miss it, in fact, but the boy grabs his arm until Harry looks up.

"Come on," he says, voice low but friendly. The others are already glaring. "I'll split my bowl with you."

Harry shakes his head because he's _fine_ , no _really_ , but the boy insists, tugging at his arm until Harry lands on his arse next to him.

A mousey brunette near them shakes her head in disgust. "Ed," she hisses. "What's wrong with you? Just because he looks small and pathetic doesn't mean he's not one of them."

Ed shakes his head. He sips a spoonful of soup and offers the spoon to Harry. "Ignore her," he says. "She hasn't had a proper wash in a week now, that'd make anybody cranky."

Ed clearly hasn't either, his ginger hair lank with grease as it falls into his eyes, but he doesn't seem to be letting it bother him.

Harry scrubs at his face self consciously with dirty hands in an attempt to get the spit off before taking the spoon from him. "Thank you," he says softly, before taking a small portion of the soup for himself. They pass the bowl back and forth in silence for a while. Harry knows his presence in the room is an unwelcome one. Generally they ignore him altogether but the fact that Ed is being generous enough to share his ration with a pirate is sending a tense quiet through the room. Harry feels like all eyes are on him and wants to hand the bowl back to escape the situation altogether, but hostile glances from people in chains is generally nicer than mean spirited pranks or people blowing off steam by using him as a recreational punching bag.

"So," Ed starts, his companionable a welcome break to the silence. "I'm Ed. Are you the cook?"

Harry shakes his head. "Just a general errands runner I suppose. They normally don't let me near the food. Harry." He says his name as an afterthought, not used to being more than just The Errand Boy or, with some of the more companionable, Pudge.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Ed says and he looks it too, which is odd. "Not good with food then?"

"A little on the clumsy side." Harry thinks wistfully of the week that they'd allowed him to help out in the kitchens. He misses the smell of fresh bread. But then he remembers the sting from the belt across his knuckles, one hit for every biscuit that landed on the floor. It had been a baker's dozen and the last mistake he made before he was kicked out.

They eat in silence for a bit, Harry finding it unnatural to try to make smalltalk, and also feeling so grateful for having an almost full bowl for once, even thought it’s just cabbage soup - it’s always cabbage soup.

The rest of the crew dine in the mess, and they’ve got meat. Eggs on a good day and bread and thick, filling stew. Sometimes Harry is able to take the last of a bowl that hasn’t been emptied, or a bread roll that’s been dropped. They call him Pudge but it’s a bit of a misnomer. He’s lost all the baby fat he used to have as a teenager, now that he’s finally hit his twenties he’s tall and lean and misses the days when his mum would scold him for going back to the pot too many times for more helpings during dinner.

“You a bit of a loner then?” Ed asks, breaking the silence.

Harry feels the eyes of the rest of the aristocrats fall back on him again and he concentrates intently on the bottom of his bowl. “You could say that, I guess. Just don’t fit in well with the rest of the crew. I’m just an errands boy after all.”

“Well you seem in better spirits than most of my neighbors here,” Ed says, motioning to the lineup next to him. “So feel free to chat here with me any time.”

Harry smiles. Ed’s an odd one, that’s for sure, and he definitely won’t be taking him up on that offer, but it’s a nice thing to say.

It takes a while for aristocrats to get through a meal, because even when they spend their free time sending pointed glares in Harry’s direction, they eat with as much grace as prisoners can muster. It really means they haven’t started starving yet, which is a good sign. They’ll start eating faster when they begin realising this is going to be the extent of their meals until their ransom is paid for. Hopefully it won’t be too long, since Harry is always the one to feed them and so he also ends up being the one they take all their anger out on. He’s glad that the captain never kills anyone they’ve taken hostage, but he does have an easier time of things when they just find other pirate ships and steal from them instead.

Harry eventually stands, joints cracking, and collects the bowls back. He’s hoping there’s not too much that he has to do tonight, because already he feels bone-tired. He emerges above deck and trudges to the kitchens to wash the bowls.

The cook, an old, balding man by the name of Walsh, grunts at him when he puts the bowls in the vat of lukewarm water, and Harry looks up to find that he’s been left with all the dishes from the evening apparently. Lovely.

But at least Walsh leaves, and Harry is alone in the kitchens. He’s able to relax, breath a little and concentrate on the task at hand. It’s always a little easier when he can lose himself in something mindless. He loves baking, remembers the days when he thought that he’d do all right on this ship if only he’d be allowed to spend all his time in here preparing food. It’s too bad, but he’s learned better now. Some people just don’t get to be happy in life like that. He’s not going to have a nice life, and he’s not going to be happy. But someday he’s going to get revenge on the right people, and he’s going to be able to tell his family that he’s done it for them. That’s what really counts, in the end. He just has to make it through until that point.

It’s well after the setting of the sun when he leaves the kitchens. The stars are clear and beautiful in the sky, stretched out in their freedom to splash themselves across the heavens. Harry allows himself to gaze on them for only a few moments before he opens the hatch that leads back down to the furthest part below deck, back to the holding area with the aristocrats.

He finds almost all of them asleep, huddled together in a way they definitely would find too close for comfort in any sort of high society setting. The chamberpots need to be emptied and Harry does so without complaint, because he’d have to endure the smell as well if he left them as they were.

He settles down in the corner, with the single blanket he’d taken years ago and hidden among old odds and ends to form his space. He wraps it around himself carefully, lying on his stomach as is habit, and is drifting off to sleep as he hears a gentle voice in the room - Ed’s voice;

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Ed’s a good one.

—

Louis Tomlinson has been the captain of the Lady Charlotte for long enough to know when his crew is getting restless. When he took over from the former captain, who wished to live his retired life in peace on an island where he didn’t have to fear being boarded and gutted on the daily, Louis had promised to do things a little differently. Now, having grown up from a young age learning and abiding by the pirate code, he knows that his morals aren’t the best. They’re certainly a little skewed from, for instance, the aristocrats he takes aboard his ship from time to time, but overall he thinks his aim is true, and the crew abides by what he says just fine. He’s all for a bit of raiding from time to time, and loves a bit of drunken partying, but one of the first things that he laid to rest when he became captain was holding innocents hostage.

Now, holding a corrupt seaman or six hostage from time to time? Perfectly fine by him. They generally end up walking the plank when no one is willing to pay their ransom, but so be it. But holding the common civilian hostage? Leave that to other pirates, and see just how far it gets them. Personally, Louis loves the fact that the Lady Charlotte has been granted safe passage in many waters where generally pirates will have to fight tooth and nail to enter - it makes trading treasure for goods a whole lot easier.

So, what does a pirate do all day if he’s not looking for people to ransom and coastal villages to pillage and burn?

Well, go after other pirates of course.

“It’s the Great Age of Piracy,” Louis announces to Niall when he enters the cabin. “And we’re about to take down one of the most infamous ships there is.”

“I’m not always sure you were meant to be a pirate,” Niall tells him, adjusting the instruments and their position on the map. “I think pirates are supposed to go after things like, treasure? And women. I’d like to meet some women every once in awhile, you know?”

“Bebe’s been up adjusting the mast since breakfast Niall, you’re free to go speak to her at any point.”

Niall scowls. “I want a woman who hasn’t _already rejected me,_ got any of those?”

“As you insist on asking out every poor woman on this ship, I’m afraid not. Have you tried the blokes?”

“Only the fit ones,” Niall says, taking a seat in Louis’s captain chair. “No offence, but some of the crew around here have faces like fish and brains to match.”

“Yes, I know you don’t like Logan. Get over it, I owed his mum a favour.”

“I’m just saying, Tommo. He needs a good punch in the jaw and I’d love to be the one to give it to him.”

“And when the opportunity arises, and I’m sure it will, I’ll know exactly who to come to. Until then, please keep yourself busy making sure we stay on that ship’s tail. How long have we got?”

“We’ll probably overtake them at dusk, that work for you?” Niall asks, jotting their position down in the book. They’ve started putting on speed since the fog lifted, I assume they’ve seen us.”

“Or they’re just bad at what they do. Either way I can’t wait to knock them down a few pegs.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Niall informs him. “But most of us have been itching for a good fight for weeks. It’s been too long.”

Louis grins. “Don’t I know it. You’ve all been so nice and patient, though. Don’t worry. We can stage a nice hostile takeover and then go find you a nice brothel, yeah?”

“Please and thank you,” Niall says. “Preferably near France? I’ve made good friends with some of the women in France.”

“It’s that Irish charm of yours,” Louis says. “None of them can understand a word you say, and it really works in your favour.”

—

While they’re able to take the ship at dusk, they end up waiting until dawn at Liam’s request. As the second in command he knows that, while the pirates become a bit rowdier as the night goes on, they will do a much better job first thing in the morning, and the fog offered by daybreak gives them a nicer cover than the light from the setting sun at dusk.  
  
It’s just after breakfast when they decide to finally board. They’ve been chasing _The Modest_ just out of range all through the night, and when Niall is finally given the word, they catch up tremendously fast. It makes _The Modest_ seem, well, sort of inadequate. Almost as if they’re chasing a rather old man.  
  
The skies are dusty and foggy; it’s that early morning feeling that seems to even make the ship smell fresh, like a calm sea breeze. Sure, Louis’s crew is a bit grouchy because he’s roused them for breakfast a few hours earlier than normal, and they weren’t able to partake in their normal nighttime game of cards (or at least they were told that it was a bad idea - some members of the crew aren’t the best at listening, but it is what it is).  
  
They dine on the better cuts of meat for their meal, knowing that overtaking _The_ _Modest_ means new provisions, new rations, and probably some pretty good meats added to their cellar, judging by the rumours they’ve heard of how the crew of _The_ _Modest_ feast on the daily. They gorge themselves, or some people say.  
  
The closer the time comes, the more revved up on the crew becomes, the more ready to take someone in a fight. They don’t often get to practice their sword fighting like this, it’s been a good few months since they’ve arranged any pirate crews to loot.  Louis has had other, more time sensitive things that he’s had to get finished, but now, finally, they’ve come up on a pirate ship that he feels absolutely no remorse about completely destroying, if the need may be. He always feels bad, when his opponents aren’t really up to par — but _The Modest_ promises a good fight. They’ve been well known among the seas for a long time, longer than Louis has been a captain, and he thinks his men are ready.

There doesn’t seem to be much of a stirring from _The Modest_ as they come up alongside it, depending on the circumstance Louis would start out with cannons and only board if completely necessary, but his men have been itching for a good fight for such a long time that how can you deny them?  
  
When the _Lady Charlotte_ finally gets close enough that they’re able to latch ropes to the side, sending men over in small groups at first as they get close enough to board the gangplank,  Louis realises to his surprise that there is _nobody_ out on the deck of the ship. Where is everybody? It’s odd, that such a great fabled ship would seem so empty now. They come up alongside close enough that he’s able to lower the plank and then all hell breaks loose as his own men work themselves into a frenzy in their endeavors to get across the other side. There still no one on the deck, but as everybody’s quickly making their ways to any doorways they can access, Louis assumes that if there’s anybody on the ship at all they’ll be found before too long.

Louis’s heard a lot of stories about _The Modest_ . He’s especially heard a lot of not-very-good stories about _The Modest_ and he doesn’t particularly like what he hears. Gossip says the crew think they’re above the pirate code.

Being above the law is one thing; a pirate by definition considers themself above the law. But to disobey the pirate code? That’s complete anarchy, and can’t be allowed to continue. So when Louis boards the ship, the first thing that he looks for it is the captain’s quarters. As one captain to another, he takes it sort of personally. He follows his men, last onto the ship and making notes of the various areas and decks, how they differ from his own. He’s in no rush.

He starts to notice men spilling back out onto the top deck, swords in hand as they clash against the rival crew. Louis’s honestly not too worried; he trusts his crew more than he trusts himself. Even seeing the presence of these pirates, he doesn’t so much as flinch as the fighting begins to surround him.  It’s odd though, seeing these the pirates finally emerging. They seem angry, and they seem ready to fight, but they don’t seem… Quite on the same level as his own men. In fact, they seem rather old. Slow. An uneven match.

Still, if there’s one thing Louis’s crew is good at, it’s taking over rival ships, and they’re not going to go easy on this crew; they’ve been cooped up too long. Plus, they have a goal this time; they know that there are hostages on the ship so there’s a more than just money and food to plunder.

They’re not what he’s here for though, and as he makes his way through the crowds of sword fighting that are beginning to surge around him, he sidesteps and ducks as he heads toward where he assumes the captains quarters to be.

Most ships of similar size are laid out in the same sort of floor plan, so the captain’s quarters really isn’t that difficult to find. Louis only has to try three doors before he finds the correct one, and can tell the minute he steps inside that he’s come upon the right room. It’s draped lavishly in garments and decorations that make the rest of the ship look rather plan comparison. That’s just another thing but Louis talk to hate whoever this For. No captain should consider himself better than his mouth, and if the rest of the shit doesn’t look like this, then there’s no reason for his room to either.  
  
Inside there’s a desk that looks empty, but it also looks very recently occupied judging by the food and drinks looking fresh and undisturbed on the desk.

“You know,” says Louis. “If _my_ ship were under attack, it wouldn’t be my first thought to hide under my desk like a dog with my tail between my legs. But I suppose maybe the captain of _The Modest_ might view himself as better than his crew.”

He stalks slowly around the room, each footstep making a _thud_ echo, the fighting outside muffled by the closed doors and tapestries adorning the walls.

He knows he’s not alone, though.

He’s also fully prepared when he makes his way around to the far side of the desk and the coward of a man underneath jumps up in an attempt to catch him by  surprise.

Louis is able to meet the thrusts of his sword easily, the sounds of metal hitting metal resounding throughout the room. He fakes a yawn. “Is this really all the captain of _The Modest_ has to offer? It’s laughable. Surely you’re a servant masquerading as a captain.”

The man growls, slashing at Louis’s sides erratically. “You shut your mouth before I shut it for you!”

Louis laughs. “You couldn't stop a kitten from mewing.” He studies this supposed captain. Louis knows well that he’s good with a sword, but he truly wasn’t expecting to have it _this_ easy. The man fighting him is old, his whiskers grey and his jowls beginning to sag. Louis knows he’s got a bit in the way of crows feet around his eyes (he tells Niall, crows are good luck so he wear them with pride). This man, on the other hand, reeks of being past his prime. Either this ship is filled with the elderly or the captain has kept himself in power long past when he should have handed the reigns down to a younger crew member.

He almost feels sorry for the man, clearly trying to hold onto a former youthful glory that’s slipped from his fingers, but the man fights with such a haughty abandon, almost like he’s trying to impose on Louis that he’s the better swordsman even though he’s barely parrying Louis’s thrusts, much less making anything like headway…

Well, Louis’s not that good of a person. He’s a pirate after all.

“I should really go join the rest of my crew,” Louis tells him conversationally. “So if we could cut this short, that would be excellent. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I will not be disrespected this way by someone as young and uppity as you,” the captain of _The Modest_ yells. His face is red and Louis wants to laugh at how truly pathetic he looks.

What Louis said was true though; he’s itching to join the rest of his crew. He doesn’t have time to mess with such a fool of a captain. He starts putting a bit of strategy into his moves and is quick to back the captain into a corner, smiling when the man’s back hits the wall.

“It’s been fun,” he says, accentuating what he says with faster strokes of the sword, like a skilled painter. “But I’ve got better things to do. So I’m going to have to get going. I hope you have someone good at stitching up wounds.”

And with that, he takes one final swipe, catching the captain off guard and neatly slicing the thumb off of his left hand. The captain lets out a scream of pain and drops his sword to clutch at his hand. Louis briefly considers ending it right there, but he’s just not much of a killer. It makes him feel rather ill to think about it. So he turns his back on the man and stalks out of the room, confident he won’t be followed.

When he emerges on deck, he finds that he’s missed pretty much all the fun. He can only see his own crew members, which means the crew of _The Modest_ have probably been locked somewhere below deck, and Niall should have commandeered any and all booze by now.

His crew makes a good team, and they know their goals well. Goal one; kick arse. Goal two; grab all treasure, booze and meat. Goal three; take anyone who isn’t a pirate and return them to where they’re supposed to be.

After all, it’s good to break pirate stereotypes every once in awhile.

There’s raucous laughter from one corner of the ship, where Bebe and Steve seem to have found some rather outlandish clothes and are trying them on, and Louis can see quite a few of his crew members wandering about with steins in their hands. Yes, Niall has definitely found the booze.

He’s a little sad that the battle was apparently over so fast that he couldn’t take part, but his men seem happy so Louis can deal. He’s especially pleased when his bookkeep, Liam, sidles up to him and hands him a stein filled to the brim with something amber-coloured and frothy.

“How’d it run down?” Louis asks, taking an experimental sip. Not bad.

“I think it was a bit too easy if I’m being honest,” Liam says, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t think it was a trap or what-have-you, just think they’re all a bit on the old side and should have retired about a decade ago, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Exactly what I was thinking, judging by the captain. Sorry excuse for a man, if I may say so. No young blood on the ship at all?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. There were a couple men who could’ve held their own I expect, but there were just so many that seemed a bit out of practice, fat on their own riches you could say, that the younger ones couldn’t really make up for it. _The Modest_ used to be pretty infamous, didn’t it?”

“It did, yeah,” Louis watches as his crew begin disembarking back onto their own ship. “But I suppose they just got too full of themselves. From the looks of this place they’ve been going downhill for a few years now, and without recruiting some fresh faces I think they’ve dug their own grave. Have we left them anything?”

“We’ve left them with about a day’s worth of food and a barrel of water. Should take them about two days to get back to land, once they collect themselves again.” he shrugs. “They’ll make it.”

“Not that I care,” Louis clarifies.

“Of course not,” Liam agrees. “You’re the captain of a fierce and mighty ship. You have no room for empathy.”

“Right,” says Louis. “Fearsome and terrifying, that’s me.”

“Oh, and we’ve got about twenty English aristocrats that we’re going to be taking onboard. Unless you wanted to change course early, they’ll be with us for about two weeks.”

Louis nods. “The rumour of aristocrats was the original reason for this nice little hostile takeover. I see no issue with letting them live on the ship for a bit. The usual rules apply of course, if they get especially testy or annoying I have no qualms with throwing one or two of the worst ones overboard.”

It not yet ever actually happened, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing. Instilling fear is sometimes just what a pirate needs for some peace and quiet when royalty starts to get demanding.

He sees them now, actually, with Nick at the head of the group. They’re emerging from somewhere below deck, and they all look quite pitiful and gross and like they would really like a wash. Louis prides himself on never being able to recognize any of the aristocracy, being a pirate and not caring about such things, and this group of rich snobby people does look a whole lot like the group of rich snobby people he took off of a rival pirate ship back in January. They all look the same and they all think they’re special. It’s laughable.

“Well as much fun as it is on here, I think I’d like to get back to my own ship and plot the voyage to France, yeah? Niall’s requesting a brothel and who am I to deny him anything?” Louis downs the last of the stein and wipes the froth from his lips before handing it back to Liam. “Make sure the crew know they can take as long as they want, but if they delay dinner I’m leaving them behind.”

“Will do,” Liam says.

—

Harry hadn’t seen it coming.

He doesn’t know if anyone else saw it coming, doesn’t know if they would have bothered to alert him if they had. He had been down in steerage with the captives, waiting for them to finish their rations (the second day of cabbage soup and already they were complaining about it). The noises up top had become louder than usual, but Harry hadn’t been alarmed until the door had been thrown open and a crewmember had tumbled down the steps, blood gushing from a wound in his chest.

The aristocrats, most of whom had been speaking quietly to one another (and pointedly ignoring Harry) up until that point, lapse into silence, staring at the man. Harry recognizes him, one of Captain Cowell’s main lackeys, and for just a moment feels guilt about how he doesn’t feel in the least bit upset to see him lying there, clearly terrified of someone up above.

And then he remembers that, as a member of the crew, whoever is after him is probably after Harry too. Shit.

With the door having been wrenched open, the sounds of yelling and clashing of swords filter down, and it’s clear that it’s a whole lot of people now, as opposed to just a brawl between a couple of drunk pirates like most days.

He can feel panic welling up in his chest. The Modest has a reputation, he knows, and often that seems to be enough to dissuade other pirates from going up against them. Rumour is, Captain Cowell has rats on most of the larger pirate ships around that will tip him off if they’re going to try something, but Harry privately wonders if that’s not just something Captain Cowell spread between the crew of his own ship. It would be just like him to not trust his own crew members.

It’s been at least half a year since The Modest has gotten into any sort of dispute with another pirate crew, and that time Harry had known well enough in advance that he was able to hole up between the sacks of flour in the cellar if the kitchens. Since he’s not permitted any sort of weapon, he’d be dead weight in any fight.

But here and now… Harry is virtually certain none of the crew saw this coming.  He hasn’t heard any whisper of it in the halls.

He looks around, seeing all the wide-eyed frightened faces of the aristocrats around him. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if they’re found down here, but at least the crew members of _The Modest_ leave them alone, claiming the ransom wouldn’t be as high for “damaged goods”. He probably can’t even trust whoever has boarded the ship to that degree, and although he doesn’t _like_ most of the people down here exactly, he doesn’t want anyone to come to harm either.

The man who’d tumbled down the stairs, Richard, is clutching at his wound with a grimace, clearly deaf and blind to the world around him. Harry figures if he can get the door closed and locked, maybe they’ll get lucky and whoever is up there might just pass over them. It’s a slim chance but it’s better than leaving the door wide.

He gets up from where he’s been seated next to Ed and starts inching toward the stairs, feeling like he’s approaching a live animal. He feels Ed try to grasp at his wrist, ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but as he’s the only one not chained to everyone else he knows he has to be the one to do this.

When he gets to the short flight of stairs he takes them at a sprint, getting to the top and closing the door, trying not to let it slam. There’s no lock on this side, and he curses that there’s not so much as a chair down here to block the door with. There are odds and ends that have ended up in the far end of the steerage, around the little nest he’s set up as his bed, but nothing large, and nothing the pirates would assume any captives could use as a weapon.

He’s still got a hand firmly on the handle of the door when his other arm is yanked. Shocked, he tries to jerk his arm away as he turns, realising it’s Richard, who’s still looking a little woozy from the wound but a snarl present on his face as his meaty fingers grip into Harry’s arm.

“Where do ya think you’re going?” Richard growls. He yanks Harry’s arm again hard enough that Harry gets pulled from the door entirely, teetering at the edge of the platform. “Ya think you’re better than us? Think you’re gonna try to join them other pirates out there? They won’t take ya either, Pudge. We treat ya better than we should anyway. Shoulda auctioned you off at the slave block years ago, it’s all you’re worth.”

Harry whimpers, trying to claw his arm out of Richard’s grip and not fall backward the good ten feet to the floor of the steerage. He knows trying to reason with Richard will only make him angrier, just wants to be _let go-_

And then the door swings open.

It hits Richard square in the chest, knocking him backward and catching him by surprise. He lets go of Harry and Harry finds himself off balance, stepping backward into air and tumbling down to the hard ship floor. He cries out, his ankle folding under him as he lands.

For a moment there’s nothing but the searing white-hot heat behind his eyelids as he curls over and grips at his ankle, blind to the world around him. When he adjusts enough to take account of his surroundings, he finds Ed leaning over him, concerned. Remembering the short length of chain that connects Ed to the person next to him, Harry looks behind him and sees several people who look like they must have been pulled along sprawled along the floor. It would be almost comical if not for the fact that everyone seems to be frozen in fear staring at the two pirates facing off mere feet away from them.

If a face-off is even what it could be called. Richard’s sword is lying on the floor, an unfamiliar pirate standing between him and his weapon.

He’s got short blond hair, swept up like he’s let the salty spray of the ocean shape it. He’s noticeably smaller than Richard, not heavy in the way that most of the pirates on board The Modest are, with years of eating rich; no, he looks thin and lithe. And like he’s enjoying himself.

“What,” the man says, and Harry can hear a strong Irish accent. “Your plan was running away? What sort of a pirate are you? What were you planning on doing? We’ve already defeated the lot of you, and there’s barely a scratch on us! What was going to be your next move, hiding out down here until we left?” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Sad excuse for a pirate if I ever say one. Of course, I’m not saying you’re a whole lot worse than everyone else, I’ve barely broken a sweat on this ship! I’ll get more exercise tonight in France, if you know what I mean.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and laughs, but a moment later his face falls as Richard continues to stand and glare at him. “Do you… not know what I mean? You’re not the brightest lot, are you? I mean I’m going to _have sex_ tonight. You know, with women? Something your ship seems to be sadly lacking, really.”

He takes a step forward and Richard takes a step back. Harry watches in equal parts joy and fear, not knowing whether he’d prefer Richard to win or lose. The knowledge that he might never have to report to Richard again makes something like happiness swell in his chest, but being at the mercy of this unknown pirate, who seems to take none-too-kindly to being run from sends that shooting panic into his throat.

Ed, although Harry can see his fingers shaking, is applying gentle pressure around his ankle, moving his fingers bit by bit until Harry lets out a hiss at the sudden pain. The Irish pirate looks up sharply when he does so and Harry tries his best to shrink into the shadows, become invisible. There’s a look of surprise on the pirate’s face, almost as though he hadn’t noticed there were more people down here, but after only a moment he’s turned back to Richard, taking another few steps forward and keeping his sword up at his throat.

“Simon won’t let you do this,” Richard is saying, his voice low and threatening. “He’s got friends everywhere and he’s certainly already sent out the signal for reinforcements. He’s who _made_ the pirate reputation, and snivelling little children like you are just playing at what it _really_ means to be a pirate.”

The other pirate laughs at that. Downright _laughs._ “You’re fooling yourself,” he tells Richard. “Maybe he wants you to believe he has friends everywhere, and maybe at one point he did. But he’s fallen, mate. He’s no better than the average captain of a merchant ship, and we may be _snivelling children,_ as you so artfully call us, but right now that sounds a whole lot more appealing than this ship of elderly men who spend all day bickering with each other. You were even bickering while you tried to fight! If there’s no unity, you’re just fooling yourselves into thinking you’re a proper crew.”

He lowers his sword for a moment, backstepping, a smile forming on his lips as Richard frowns in confusion. Then, in a movement fast and clearly practiced, he strikes out in an arc with the flat side of his sword. Richard moves to shield himself with his arms, but he’s much too slow and the blow lands against the side of his head with a sickening _whack,_ and he crumples to the ground.

The pirate watches him fall with a bored sort of disinterest, before inspecting and sheathing his sword. He turns to face his audience - almost twenty captive aristocrats and Harry - and offers a broad smile.

“Hello lovers,” the pirate says. “I’m Niall.”

He sheaths his sword, looking around the group of them huddled together on the floor with a smirk. “You look like that group of aristocrats who have gone missing, isn’t that odd?”

He takes a step forward and the people sitting closest to him shuffle backward a little. Harry, who with Ed is the furthest back, doesn’t particularly blame them. Niall stops, though, and puts up his hands.

“I wasn’t about to start punching your or anything, calm down! We’re just going to do a bit of relocation. I would assume none of you want to stay on this ship once we leave them with no provisions and anchor-less? Could be wrong here, of course, but at least on our ship we don’t keep chained up in the most depressing room of the ship. Seriously, no windows!”

He’s trying to lighten the mood, Harry can tell, and it actually seems to be working. There’s a less tense atmosphere, more relaxed shoulders.

“Now listen, I’m shit at lock-picking, which is what it looks like the lot of you need. So I’m going to be back with a friend in just a moment. Sit tight!” he laughs at his joke, and then almost as an afterthought points a thumb at Richard. “Oh, and if this one wakes up, just growl at him a bit. Think he’s not going to be much of an issue, though.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply (not that Harry thinks anyone would), just turns and bounds up the stairs. He leaves the door wide, and in the jarring silence that follows, Harry begins to hear what sounds like excited chattering filtering in from above, a stark difference from the sounds of metal clashing and harsh words from earlier.

It’s not too long before the whispers among the nobles start up. Harry’s preoccupied, trying to figure out if he’ll be able to walk on his ankle, if it’s worth it to try to sneak out of the room now. Niall didn’t seem to notice him earlier, so there’s still a chance - but a slim one.

“He’s cute,” whispers Taylor. “I’m happy to follow him.”

“Get ahold of yourself,” says someone else. “You just want to spread your legs.”

“If it means I don’t end up in the belly of a ship with iron around my ankle again, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Hey, if she wants to get a leg up on the rest of us, I say let her.”

“Leg up - you think you’re funny, don’t you.”

Harry moves his legs out in front of him, grimacing as pain splinters up from his ankle.

“You’re not going to be able to walk on that,” Ed tells him quietly, making Harry jump. He’s still rather confused about why Ed has chosen him as a friend, if they can even be called that.

“I don’t have a choice,” he whispers back, even as he knows there’s some truth to Ed’s words. If he manages to even get up the stairs, he’ll be a sitting duck if anyone at all finds him.

He feels tears prick at his eyes, even as he’s determined to not let them fall. This isn’t the life he chose, and everything is _unfair,_ but it’s been unfair for years, and the least he can do is not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing just how much they’ve beaten him, whether it’s The Modest pirates or these new ones.

“Here,” Ed says, and Harry looks over to see him stripping off his waistcoat and undershirt. Harry sees a flash of something he wasn’t expecting - a very large tattoo covering his chest - before Ed donned only the vest, buttoning it up. “I’ve learned a thing or two while in service to the King.”

He takes the undershirt and deftly rips one sleeve from it, before bending down and gently wrapping it around Harry’s ankle.

Harry looks on in confusion as Ed ties it tight. “What- that’s your shirt!”

“Yeah,” Ed agrees. “And you’ll be able to walk a little better with it.” He smiles. “It would be a lot easier on you if you had some boots, you know. Or even shoes. Barefoot doesn’t go well with a sprained ankle.”

Harry smiles ruefully. “Grew out of my shoes about three years ago.”

He’s just considering trying to stand again when, two sets of footsteps sound on the stairs.

“I brought a friend!” comes Niall’s already familiar accent. “This is Steve, he’s good with metal.”

Steve is a head taller than Niall, his long hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. He’s got his sword sheathed at his side and is resting a mallet over his shoulder.

“I was told that I was going to have to pick about twenty locks,” he says to the captive audience. “But I didn’t bring my tools with me, and honestly that sounds incredibly tedious and boring. So what’s actually going to happen is, I’m going to just break all the chains, and we’re going to worry about the lock picking part later. Any objections?”

There are no objections.

Steve smiles. His whiskers go all bristly when he smiles. “Right! I’ll just get right down to it, then.”

Steve steps forward to the first person, who’s chain connects to the wall. He asks their name, greets them, and then places a large stone from his pouch onto the ground below the chain, and begins hitting it with his mallet like a man possessed.

It breaks after only three strikes.

“Right,” says Steve, picking up his stone. “This won’t take long.”

He goes down the line, greeting each aristocrat and then breaking them free. It’s fascinating to watch. Niall has simply moved back and sat down on the floor, looking like this is something Steve does often. Maybe he does.

It doesn’t seem to take too long before Steve has finally made his way through the chain all the way to Ed and the woman next to him.

(When he breaks the chain around Taylor, she attempts to surge up and kiss him, but he deftly sidesteps so naturally that Harry would even think that he really didn’t notice).

“What’s your name?” Steve asks, turning to Ed.

“Edward Sheeran, son of the Baron of Blackley.”

“Pleasure,” Steve says, in a way that makes it sound like he really means it. Maybe he does. He arranges the chain and aims only two hits at it before a link shatters. He then turns to Harry.

Harry gulps.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks.

“H-Harry,” he stutters. “Um-”

“It looks like you’ve already managed without my help, although if you’ve injured your ankle that badly I daresay it wasn’t worth it.” Steve motions to Harry’s bound ankle, and Harry almost laughs. They think he’s an _aristocrat?_ Even when he lived with his mum they barely made enough to afford proper schooling!

Looking around though, he realises that the mistake wouldn’t be that difficult. They’ve all been down here for days, no wash and nothing but cabbage soup. Ed’s not even got his undershirt on anymore, and most of them have taken off their waistcoats to use as bedding.

Still. “I-I’m not-”

Ed slaps a hand over his mouth. “He’s not going to be able to walk that well,” Ed says. “You’ll have to excuse us.”

“Of course, we’re not just going to leave you behind” Steve nods in understanding. He hops up and rejoins Niall, who Harry realises has been chatting with a few of the nobles.

“Well then!” NIall claps his hands. “We’re going to be heading over to the _Lady Charlotte_ now, if that’s all fine by you! I mean, you could stay here. But I think we’ve taken most of the food. And definitely all of the alcohol. But please, be my guest!” He laughs. “But really. We should get going because I’ve been promised a trip to France. Come on, lovers! Follow Steve, he’s the ticket out.”

The group of aristocrats seem fairly keen on following, and Steve leads them up the stairs. They huddle together like ducklings, whispering among themselves again, sounding excited.

Harry wants to yell at them. _What do they think they’re doing? Why do they think just because this pirate has a smile on his face and charisma that they can trust him? He’s still a pirate!_ He doesn’t, though, because he feels like he’s only here still because of the smallest thread of luck, and a single step out of line will make that thread snap.

“Come on,” Ed says when almost everyone has filtered out. The only one still at the bottom of the stairs is Niall, and he’s watching them with interest.

Ed stands and offers Harry his hand. Harry takes it and slides the other one against the wall, carefully raising himself to standing and trying to put as little pressure on his leg as possible. He hisses a little as he settles onto his feet, but the wrap that Ed’s put around his ankle really has helped. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have said that. Really.”

Ed shakes his head. He grabs Harry’s arm and slings it over his shoulder. “You’re not a pirate,” he whispers back. “At least, you’re not a pirate who deserves to be here. You’re not one of them, even I can see that.”

 _I am though,_ Harry thinks. _I’ve got the tattoo of The Modest, I can never be anything except this._

Still, he limps along at Ed’s side. They move slowly but Niall doesn’t make a comment, just continues to watch them in a way that makes Harry feel like every secret inside of him is being brought out on full display.

They finally make it up the stairs and into the main hallway inside the ship, and Niall lets the door swing closed behind them. They make their way down the hallway and then up the shorter flight of stairs into the open air of the deck, and Niall lets the door behind them close and latch.

They make their way through a crowd of unfamiliar pirates who seem to be having the time of their life running about and sharing drinks, and as he (with Ed’s help) limps his way across a plank and boards an entirely unfamiliar ship, Harry can’t help but feel like something in his life is ending.

He just doesn’t know if what’s beginning is going to be better or worse.

—

Louis takes one more walk around the upper deck of _The Modest._ His crew have all filtered back to their own ship by now, but it’s become a tradition of Louis’s to take a moment after everything is over. A captain should always be the first on a ship and the last off, he tells Niall. Generally only half of that rings true, because certain members of his crew get a bit over excited and tend to board a vessel before he’s given the go-ahead, but that’s okay. They can get like a crowd of excitable children, and who is Louis to deny them anything?

 _The Modest_ is a galleon, which looked rather intimidating from a distance but now, pacing the deck, it seems a little underwhelming. It’s a little on the small side as far as galleons go, and it seemed to be more than half empty, judging by the number of pirates they encountered. There’s also an air of disrepair, either from a crew too small for a ship of this size, or from sheer laziness.

Louis glances back at his own ship, the _Lady Charlotte_ . Compared to _The Modest_ she might be erring on the side of overcrowded, but she’s groomed to perfection - he makes sure of it. It’s probably the one thing he gets teased for the most - the number of people he assigns to upkeep.

He takes one last look around before turning back toward his own ship. He walks over to the edge of the deck and takes ahold of the ropes securing the ships together. Loosening the grappling hooks from where they’ve buried themselves from the natural tug of the water, he hops down the makeshift bridge.

Liam is waiting for him at the bottom when he touches down on his own ship.

“We’re not sinking it?” he asks. He’s used to Louis’s unusual decisions when it comes to what to do with plundered ships.

“No,” Louis confirms. “Not this time at least.” He motions to the deckhands who have been loitering around nearby waiting for him to give the word. They jump to action, disconnecting and reeling back in the rope bridge as Louis and Liam start walking.

“Right,” says Liam. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Louis laughs. “You can tell me you disagree with my decision, Liam. I’m not going to make you run laps or summat for disagreeing with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Liam says, sounding serious although he’s got a smile on his face. “You’ll still spend the next week threatening to make me _walk the plank,_ as you call it, even though we don’t have one. But anyway it’s not my place. You want to let them drift off into Spanish territory, be my guest.”

“I do and I will, thank you Liam.” Louis pats him on the back (in an authoritative way) and then dismisses him, watching him walk off to go organize and document the spoils from the prize.

Louis surveys his ship, his crew members working to get it up and moving again. The sun hasn’t yet hit the highest spot in the sky, but he’s confident that there are already people working down in the kitchens on lunch. He’s confident in his crew, and every day spent on this ship just reinforces the knowledge that this is his family, and he can rely on them.

Now, it’s time to go find Niall and keep him from scaring the life out of some poor nobles.

—

They’ve been led down into the lower level of the ship, past a row of doors into a large hall with two tables running the length of it. By the time Harry and Ed make it, most everyone else has taken a seat along one of the benches, and he can see Niall down at the end, lounging against the far wall.

Several of the aristocrats shoot glares at Harry as he enters and he ducks his head, keeping his eyes on the floor as Ed helps him to the end of the bench, taking a seat beside him. _This was a horrible idea,_ Harry thinks. Any of the people in this room, barring Ed, would give him away as a pirate at a moment’s notice, and then what?

“Hello and welcome, lovers!”

Harry flinches when Niall’s voice booms through the room. Looking up, he sees Niall’s standing on the other long table, arms crossed in front of him and a wide grin on his face.

“You know what I like about you nobles?” Niall continues. “It’s how trusting you are. Put a pirate in front of you and you’ll follow him anywhere, no questions asked! You’d walk yourself right off a cliff if I asked you nicely enough. Very obliging of you, really.” He laughs. “I didn’t even tell you our plans for after you boarded! No offence, but you guys need a lesson in self preservation. I mean, I know I’m better looking than the ugly mugs you had to deal with but _come on!_ You don’t know me!” He laughs again, harder, and Harry almost wants to roll his eyes, suddenly moving from worried to accepting of the situation. Not much could be worse for him than his last ship, and the aristocrats here literally walked into this, so what should he care?

Except for Ed. Maybe Ed doesn’t deserve whatever’s coming.

Niall seems like he’s just getting started now, becoming more animated as he talks. “Let’s see, what are we going to do with you all then? I can think of a few things…” he starts counting on his fingers. “Indentured servitude? Selling you at the nearest slave auction? How about-”

“Alright, Niall, you can stop scaring them now.”

Harry’s eyes snap to the doorway. There’s a man walking in, the same cocky grin that Niall holds spread across his face. He’s small, Harry thinks, but he holds himself in a way that commands respect.

“I didn’t even get as far into my speech as normal!” Niall complains, although his smile is just as wide. He hops off the table and steps aside for this new person. “You’re no fun.”

“You just need to learn to talk faster,” the new pirate says. He stops and faces the row of now ashen faced people sitting in front of him. “Hello, I’m Louis Tomlinson. You can refer to me as Captain, since you’re on my ship.”

He doesn’t get much of a response from the audience. Which makes sense, Harry thinks, since they’ve just more or less been told they could be sold into slavery.

Louis doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer, though, and he continues.

“Whatever Niall listed off, you can be rest assured we will _not_ be doing. You will be required to earn your keep while you are here, but I believe what we are in the most need of right now are laundry maids, and perhaps someone who’s good with repairing clothing but,” he sweeps his eyes over the assembled group, “somehow I don’t believe any of you are.”

Harry, although he has no idea where this has come from, suddenly has to hold in a snort.

Louis starts lightly pacing as he talks. “We here on the Lady Charlotte - and you _will_ respect her - are going to be making a short stop in France so that my crew can get adequately smashed and bed some people of their own choosing. Then, once they’ve had a night to recover, we will be on our way to England where we will drop you off and you can be on your merry way. Now,” he stops and trains his eye on some of them. “In the past, some nobles have gotten impatient and simply jumped ship at the first bit of land they see. While I do not care to stop you if you do this, can I just say that England is now, as it always is, at war with France, and if you are thinking of doing this, I would sincerely advise against it. You’re grown men and women. You can practice some patience.”

They’re… going to just let everyone go? Harry’s heart swells with unexpected hope. If he can just play this off until they’re back in England… He wouldn’t have anywhere to go, but at least he’d be _free…_

“Excuse me.”

Louis looks up, trying to locate who’s speaking. It’s Taylor, of course it is. Harry gulps.

“You’re excused. As I was saying,” Louis continues, and Harry lets out the breath he was holding. Taylor looks enraged, though, and begins again.

“This is all well and good, but what do _you_ get out of this? I can’t imagine you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your own heart.”

Harry looks down the table and sees Taylor looking proud of herself, like she’s just won some sort of argument. Harry wonders if she’s ever heard the saying _don’t look a gift horse in the mouth._ Probably not.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis tells her. “We are pirates, after all. Nothing we do is out of the goodness of our hearts. What we get out of this is safe passage in the future, and from time to time a monetary reward.” He flashes a grin. “After all, we returned some Spanish diplomats a year ago and got a hefty reward for it. Do you really want to be beaten by the _Spanish?”_

There’s a muttering among the aristocrats now. Ed, next to Harry, stifles a laugh. Apparently these people actually _do_ care if they’re beaten by the Spanish. They’ve lived their whole lives caring about their reputation so much that now even their reputation among a group of pirates matters.

Harry thinks about how utterly ridiculous they all are. How they can so quickly believe that these pirates mean them no harm, and begin bickering about things like gratuitous rewards for their safe return, while Harry still feels like one wrong step while he’s aboard this ship could easily be his last.

Louis continues, speaking of their travel time and what they should expect aboard the ship. They will be given two small sleeping quarters, one for the women and one for the men, and Louis explains that it will be a bit cramped but anyone caught complaining will have spoiled food thrown at them. They will have chores to do, mostly in the form of laundry, but besides that they are allowed about the upper decks as they wish - as long as they don’t get in the way of any pirates trying to actually do their job.

“I don’t care to learn any of your names,” Louis tells them. “And I will be as happy as you are when i can finally drop you off my ship. We are not enemies here, but I do not consider you my friends. Now, do you have any questions?”

Several voices speak up, their boldness shocking but at the same time not surprising.

“Right. No questions, then. I don’t care. Niall will take it from here, I have important things to attend to.”

Just like that, he turns and Harry watches as he leaves the room.

“Right then,” Niall says, pushing himself off from the wall he was leaning against. “Now that Louis has ruined my fun. I’ll show you to the sleeping quarters and let you fight over the good hammocks. Also, there are no good hammocks. You get the extra ones. But as I was saying! Lunch is when the bell sounds, and I’ll show you lot to the laundry after that.”

He motions for everyone to follow and they do, scrambling up off of the bench.

“I can do it,” Harry says to Ed when he tries to help him up.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ed says. “You could barely walk in here _with_ my help. Now come on, I’m not leaving you behind just because you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not-” Harry makes a frustrated noise. “Fine. Sorry. That you’re dealing with this.”

“Not a problem,” Ed says, offering his hand to Harry. “Something seems a little boring about racing the rest of them to get the ‘best hammock’. I like knowing what I’m doing matters to something besides me.”

Harry thinks, but doesn’t say, that it seems like a luxury to be able to choose who he’s living his life for. Instead he just takes Ed’s hand and steadies his other one on the tabletop to haul himself up on his one good foot.

He swings one of his arms over Ed’s shoulder again and they make their way back into the hallway, following a ways behind everyone else.

The sleeping quarters are, apparently, at the far end of the ship - the last two doors on either side. Both of them are open and Niall is already nowhere to be seen.

Harry looks to the room on his left and notes that that must be the sleeping quarters for the women - at a glance he sees Taylor and a few others trying to balance their way onto the hammocks and not looking very lady-like about it. He and Ed turn to the right and make their way into a room where the men are doing the same thing, but with only marginally more success than the women.

“Aw goddamn it,” Ed says. “They are a bunch of greedy brats, aren’t they?”

There’s two rows of five hammocks in the room, and all but one of them seems to have been accounted for. Harry smiles ruefully. “What was that you were saying about racing for the hammocks being boring?”

“Oh shush,” Ed says, and then he turns to Harry with a smile. “Are you teasing me? Are we at that level of friendship then? Why Harry, I’m honored.”

“Not sure you should be, but that’s okay,” Harry says. He sighs. “I don’t know why you’ve felt the need to save me, but I suppose the least I could do is try to be nice once in awhile.” He’s saying it to himself as much as to Ed. “Now could you help me over to the wall? That hammock is yours and you don’t get to argue that point because I feel like you’re about to.”

“I am actually,” Ed says. “I don’t-”

Harry cuts him off. “I have been sleeping on the floor of that ship for over four years. Never in my life have I slept in a hammock, and I think it may even make me feel seasick. You’re not going to win this argument.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “You’ve proved your point and I suppose I can concede _this_ time.”

Harry ends up, with Ed’s help, seated on the hammock with him. Everyone else pointedly ignores the two of them, chattering amongst themselves more than they had the entire time they were in the belly of The Modest. Harry sits in silence, happy to be off of his feet, and just listens. They talk about things that he’s never heard of - a new sport that’s just become popular called cricket, which everyone seems excited to play, and their holiday homes in towns he’s never heard of.

They speak about gossip - make bets on who is going to have run off with who by the time they get back, and whose maid has loose lips and whose butler is known to be taking more than his fair share of the household earnings.

They talk about clothing - about how they’re going to burn what they’re wearing now and how their tailors dress them for occasions. Harry looks down at his bare feet and his trousers that he snuck out of a pile of washing in the hopes that no one would notice they were missing. The shirt tied around his ankle is probably worth more than everything else he’s ever worn. He feels his ears go pink at the thought.

Eventually the bell that Niall had referred to rings out through the ship and, as always, everyone seems in a rush to be the first ones there. Harry waits for Ed to get off of the hammock first, and Ed almost manages it, but then unbalances himself at the last second and slips, falling onto his face.

Harry doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a bray of laughter as Ed sits up and groans.

“This is how you repay me?” Ed asks with a grin. “You mock my suffering?”

“Shall I tie this shirt around your face like you did around my leg?” Harry asks with a smile. He’s finding that he tends to feel better once the aristocrats (Ed excluded) are out of earshot.

“Very funny,” Ed says. “It’s my ego that’s bruised, I’m afraid. There’s no helping that one.” He helps Harry down and they’ve become so coordinated that they’re not too dreadfully behind the rest of the crew by the time they make it to the hall for lunch.

It’s the same place that they were in earlier upon arrival, but now that the two tables are filled to the brim with pirates raucously relating, it seems a much bigger place. The aristocrats are church mice in comparison, all huddled around the far end of one of the tables.

There’s no food anywhere that Harry can see, but he assumes by the number of people that it must be coming. Ed leads the two of them down toward the end where the aristocrats are, and they take seats at the very edge. Harry has a good view of a lot of the room this way, taking his chance to try to look over as many faces as possible. If this is the whole crew it seems… somewhat smaller than he was expecting. It’s probably about half the size of the crew of The Modest, and significantly younger overall. Back on that ship Harry had been the youngest by far, but here there may even be pirates his own age if not a bit younger. He worries for them - was this life chosen for them, or did they choose it? But then he shakes himself - he can’t be worrying about others right now. He has to take care of himself first.

The noise in the hall swells and the next thing Harry knows, the smell of something delicious hits him. There are people with bowls entering the hall, serving people seemingly at random. Not entirely at random, Harry figures, since as he watches it looks like all of the pirates are getting served first. It’s bowls of stew, he realises. It smells like meat and some sort of herb - possibly thyme. When all of the pirates are served, he finds he’s one of the first ones with a bowl in front of him, and he looks at it in almost awe. It’s got carrots, potatoes and large chunks of meat. He doesn’t know the last time he had meat, it’s been months at least.

It feels, in this moment, like life is never going to be better than right now. He’s really allowed to eat this? A second shock comes  moment later when the same people who were delivering bowls of soup have now arrived with large trays of rolls, handing them out to everyone. For a second Harry thinks of burned fingers and the sting of the butterfly, and how he hasn’t had bread that wasn’t stale and about to be thrown overboard in years. A roll is placed in front of him as the server works his way clockwise around the table, and Harry catches his eye briefly. It’s a man around his own age, and when Harry mouths a thank you, the server smiles back, looking curious. Harry wonders if he’s being treated well, if he’s here by choice.

But then the server has moved on, and the bread roll is warm when Harry picks it up, and the pirates have already started devouring the food in front of them, there’s no reason for Harry to hold out.

He raises the spoon to his mouth and the first bite is like a spiritual experience. He wants to savor everything, every individual flavour. He eats slowly; the pirates are so rowdy that Harry can’t tell how much they’re eating and how much they’re just talking, and the nobles that surround him eat with manners that they didn’t have in the belly of The Modest. Still, they’ve finished their bowls while Harry still has generous helpings of meat and potatoes in the bottom of his. He hears them complain - that the food is better than it was on the last ship, but still nowhere near the apparently lavish dinners they have back home. Still, he tries his hardest to block them out. He doesn’t know how many times he’ll be allowed this luxury, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

By the time Harry has finished his food, many of the pirates have left, and the ones who are still there chattering about excitedly. All of the aristocrats at his end of the table are still there, and have been giving Harry rather mutinous looks for taking so long, which is why he ended up slurping down the last contents of his bowl.

Eventually Niall appears, apparently having sat at the other end of the room, and motions to them. “Come on then, the sooner you lot have been shown how it’s done, the sooner I can wear clean pants for the first time in a month.” He laughs and points to a pirate across the room - who laughs back at him.

Niall leads them back into the hallway and then down a set of stairs into a lower level of the ship. The oil lamps hanging along the walls cast flickering shadows through the corridor as they walk down, Harry and Ed making better pace now that Harry has become more used to it (and eaten so much in comparison to how he lived on the last ship that he’s begun to feel sick).

The room that Niall opens the door to has a pungent, stale smell. There are piles upon piles of clothes, clearly having been worn and tossed aside. Harry begins breathing through his mouth and still the smell hits him like a sack of potatoes to the head. Most of the nobles take at least a few steps back, the women making retching noises.

“Oh calm down,” Niall says. “You were living in a room with as many full chamber pots as people when we found you, I can hardly imagine this is too much. Even your _delicate sensibilities_ should be able to handle a bit of manly stench from time to time.” He motions them to follow him all the way into the room, which most people seem to resist. Suddenly Harry and Ed find themselves at the front, having been pushed forward in the wake of everyone else trying to avoid being first.

Harry stumbles a little, and then disentangles from Ed, leaning himself against the wall. He feels Niall’s eyes on him for just a moment but Harry avoids looking anywhere but at his feet. If there’s one thing he’s spent much of his life practicing it’s how to blend into the background.

When everyone is (more or less) inside, Niall starts again. “So this is how it’s going to go! We’re going to get everything piled in this room cleaned, every day. And by _we,_ what I mean is _you,_ because I wouldn’t touch this disgusting lot with a ten foot pole.”

He explains to them the order of operations; that they’re each to carry clothes up to the top deck and fill the tub up top with saltwater straight from the sea. They were to scrub at the clothes and then use soap sparingly “because we use that stuff to clean ourselves too and it’s better to have clean pirates in smelly clothes than smelly pirates in clean clothes”. Then, depending on the day, they are to rinse the clothes in clean water (because clothes washed entirely in saltwater never dry) and then tie them to the line aboard the top deck so they can dry in the breeze. It all sounds simple enough to Harry, although he’s not sure about how easy it’s going to be to carry stuff about with his ankle like this. There’s scoffs and mutterings from the people around him, but all in all Harry’s pretty happy with the job.

Niall asks if there are any questions, and a number of people speak up about _the indignity of it all_ and _inappropriate, touching the garments of men,_ and then Niall asks if there are any _real questions_ and tells them that once everything is clean they can do what they want with the rest of the day, and anyone who like to gamble can meet him in the mess hall after dinner so that he can, in his words, “show you English bastards what real Irish luck can do for a man.”

Then he strips off his top, drapes it on one of the piles, and leaves the room.

As soon as people think he’s out of earshot, complaining erupts from every corner of the room.

“I’m not doing this, I don’t even touch my own _husband’s_ clothes.”

“They _reek!_ I’m going to come over _faint!”_

“This is going to take _hours!_ How do they expect us to get all this done?”

“This is what we have servants for! Surely a ship this big could employ a few servants.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous, Jeff. They’re pirates, of course they don’t have servants. They’d enslave people before they paid them.”

It looks like no one is planning on lifting a finger any time soon, and while everyone on this ship has seemed pretty lax, Harry doesn’t want to push any boundaries.

He gets down on his knees and pulls a pile near him, finding a sack buried underneath and using it to fill with clothes. After a moment Ed leans down to help him as well.

They manage to fill the large sack between them, and the scandalized looks they get from the people around them make Harry feel rather small, but at least he’s not going to be caught doing nothing.

Ed stands and helps him stand, and between them they carry the laundry up to the top deck, where the sun is high in the sky and they’re moving at a swift clip that makes Harry’s curls blow all over his face.

“That must be the tub,” Ed says, pointing to a wooden enclosure that looks like a large barrel that’s been cut in half. They dump the clothes and Ed goes looking for a way to pull up water while Harry makes himself comfortable.

There are actually a few similar sized tubs around, and Harry whoever made that move because he’s fairly sure that everyone else is going to choose whichever one he’s _not_ at. When Ed comes back carrying a bucket of water that’s apparently been drawn up from the sea, Harry quickly loses himself in his work. It’s mindless and satisfying; Ed takes three trips to fill it up all the way, and by the time he’s done Harry’s already turned the water a rather dingy brown color from how he’s been scrubbing.

“You’d think they wouldn’t get so dirty,” Ed comments. “Being on a boat in the middle of nowhere. No dirt around.”

Harry snorts. “Think it’s more the sweat,” he says. “And peeling potatoes. Anyone who’s peeling potatoes is going to be gross within an hour.”

Ed takes a seat, putting his arms in like Harry’s been doing, although he clearly doesn’t know how to scrub them against the side. He’s denying himself, but he is one of the nobles after all. “Is that what you used to do?” he asks. “Peel potatoes? Cook?”

Harry shakes his head. “Never allowed near any knives,” he admits. “I used to be able to bake. Knead the dough and all that. Was too clumsy though, and after the first time I tripped and wasted a fresh batch I was kicked out for good.”

His knuckles had been so raw and bloody he’d barely been able to use his hands the next few days anyway.

“What’d you do after that?” Ed asks, and he sounds so earnest and honestly inquisitive, Harry doesn’t want to just brush off his questions.

“I mean. I did what you saw. I was in charge of the prisoners, when we had any. Think they thought the worst that would happen is I’d get beat by one, and they didn’t have to worry about me going after any of the women. Some of the others on the ship… I wouldn’t have put it past them.”

“You didn’t actually like it there, right?” Ed asks. “I mean. You looked proper miserable when I saw you, but. Why were you there at all?”

Harry sighs. “Some things… We don’t get a choice in,” he tells him. It feels like he’s telling something he shouldn’t, but the pirates on The Modest shouldn’t have control over him anymore. They’re not here, and he can’t go back…

Right?

It’s clear Ed is about to say something, but then he shuts his mouth again and nods toward someone behind Harry.

Harry twists around just as he hears Niall’s voice.

“Looks like you’re both getting on pretty well,” Niall says, nodding toward the water that Harry’s just added soap to.

Harry turns back and ducks his head as Ed replies, “A little work with the hands is good for the man.”

“Oh definitely,” Niall agrees. “I’m not sure your friends agree though.”

He’s looking now across at another tub on the opposite side of the deck, where a group of aristocrats are sitting around and clearly not touching any of the clothing inside.

Ed chuckles. “You’ll have to excuse them” he says. “I’ve known most of them since they were born and none of them have ever had to do anything quite so… demeaning.”

Niall laughs. “Oh, I know! WHy do you think we make you do the laundry, of all things? Do you guys _really_ think on a ship as big and well-run as ours we don’t have anyone in charge of laundering? They’re just happy for the holiday.”

Niall walks off as he finishes talking, wandering over to one of the other groups. Harry still doesn’t look up, his mind racing.

“You’ve gone pale,” Ed says. “Are you okay? Do you need a break? We don’t have to finish this in a hurry.”

“Do you-  do you think he overheard that?” Harry croaks out. _Does he know I’m lying?_

“No,” Ed is quick to reassure. “He would have said something, definitely.”

H sounds so confident but Harry just… can’t quite believe it. “What’s going to happen?” he asks Ed, voice small. “If I really do manage to get off this ship? What then? I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ve been a pirate for so many years. If anyone finds out, I’ll… I’ll be put in prison, for sure.”

Ed looks troubled, but he’s clearly trying to keep his voice reassuring. “You’ll come with me,” he says. “I have an estate up north. It’s not large, by any means, but I can employ you, give you food and shelter.”

Harry looks down at his hands, still methodically working the meager amount of soap through the clothes. “Maybe…” he says, but it doesn’t sound possibly. He doesn’t know why none of the nobles have outed him yet, but he knows how hated he is, and any of them would be able to reason out that he’d follow Ed. It doesn’t seem like a safe move.

What would be, though? Would any move really be safe?

Ed changes the subject eventually, talking instead about the other aristocrats, pointing them out around the deck and telling embarrassing stories about them.

“That one; Miley. She took the shears to her own hair once as a child and her parents didn’t allow in public for almost a year as it grew back.”

“That one’s Harris. Word is he was engaged to Taylor but broke it off before it went public because he couldn’t stand her Mum.”

“Over there that’s James Arthur. He pissed himself at a ball once.”

“When he was a child?”

“Last year, actually.”

He’s got stories about each of them, and by the time the sun is beginning to set, Harry’s almost got all of their names down. Taylor.  Miley. Harris. James. Selena. Rita. Kylie and Kendall. Justin. Samuel. Jason. And so on. It’s clear that they live in each other’s pockets even as they profess their independence and brag about the size of their estates. It seems like Ed can talk endlessly, and that works in Harry’s favour because with each new story he tells, Harry feels a bit more comfortable, like somehow this knowledge helps him blend in better.

They repeat the washing process three times in total, hanging the garments up on rope that criss crosses over the back half of the ship. Well, Ed hangs them up as Harry wrings them out and hands them off. It’s clear when the bell rings through the ship signalling meal time that the two of them have made significantly more progress than anyone else. Last time Ed went down he reported back to Harry that about half the laundry had been dealt with. Harry tries to suggest that they work through dinner and Ed gives him a pitying look. It’s in part because Harry is still full from the stew and bread from hours before, considering it’s significantly more food than he’s used to, and in part because he doesn’t want any pirate to have a reason to come after him. If he keeps working they won’t complain, right?

Ed gives him a pitying look.

“Up,” he says to Harry. “Come on, you’ve got no meat on your bones as it is. I sincerely doubt they would bar us from food just because we haven’t finished what’s clearly a two-day job.”

Harry doesn’t feel convinced, but Ed bargains with him; if Harry will come to dinner, Ed won’t put up a fuss about Harry’s sleeping on the floor tonight.

(Harry doubts Ed’s sincerity here but he still accepts).

They’re once again some of the last ones to the hall, although Harry’s proud of how much faster he’s getting around.

The aristocrats are all complaining to one another as Ed and Harry take their seats at the end; heated whispers that are clearly meant to be heard by everybody.

“My arms are sore.”

“My hands are so wrinkly! I look like an old woman.”

“I touched _men’s undergarments.”_

“Some of the water splashed on my face, I feel defiled.”

“I’ve never spent so long on my knees, they’re _sore.”_

“I _bet_ you haven’t.”

“You can take that back.”

“I’m only agreeing with you-”

_“Gentlemen.”_

The group is thrown into silence as a commanding voice sounds from behind them - Captain Tomlinson.

“And ladies, of course.”

He gives them a smile that looks like a cat in a room of mice, and Harry worries that that’s just what this is.

“Working hard all day, I presume?” Captain Tomlinson asks, stepping onto the bench between two of the nobles - James and Samuel, and swivelling so that he’s sitting on the table. “I hear some of you are working… harder than others. You were given one task today, were you not? To clear all the clothes out of the laundry room? Or am I wrong?”

Harry stares resolutely at his hands, wishing to the Lord that the floor will swallow him up. The Lord hasn’t answered yet but he’s bound to at some point. There’s a silence from the people sitting around him for only a moment, before some of them start to give excuses.

“We’ve been working all day!”

“You can’t expect us to keep going without food-”

“There was clearly days worth of work in there-”

“Tomlinson, you can’t-”

“That’s _Captain Tomlinson,”_ the Captain all but snarls. He hops down off of the table again and stalks around it one more time, coming to stand directly behind Harry. “I expect that room to be empty by noon tomorrow. I’ve heard from reliable sources that _some_ of you haven’t been pulling your weight. Just because you’re not members of my crew doesn’t mean you can slack on the tasks assigned to you. If noon comes tomorrow and that room isn’t _empty,_ none of you shall eat until it is.”

He stalks off then, and Harry takes deep breaths, trying to keep himself from shaking. He feels overwhelmed and on high alert, just like when Captain Cowell would give him impossible tasks and watch with scrutiny as he failed and failed again.

The group around him sits in brooding silence as the food begins to be brought out; it’s some sort of dish with mashed potatoes and meat baked together into a sort of pie, and Harry thinks he can smell sweet herbs as well. He’s not feeling hungry really, but the second it’s placed in front of him he starts salivating, the idea of eating something that isn’t broth based so wonderful and unheard-of.

“See?” Ed says to him, voice low. “I told you they wouldn’t let us go without dinner.”

“I-” Harry swallows the initial bite of the pie, feeling his stomach begin to respond to the idea of food in a positive manner. “I think that actually proves my side. We should have kept working.”

He says it just as quietly, but a number of people fixate on him.

“You know,” says Kylie, addressing the group as a whole. “I think it’s unfair that just because some people are used to working all day that the rest of us should be punished for not doing the same.”

Harry gapes.

“I agree,” Taylor says, and she has a smirk growing on her face. “I mean, it seems almost as if one of us _doesn’t belong._ I think it’s about time to _alert the authorities,_ as it were.”

Harry knew, of course, that they could do this at any time. Still, at the mention of it he feels all the blood drain from his face. “Please,” he begs quietly. “Please don’t.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Taylor says. Her voice is low, and every word she speaks feels like a drop of poison into Harry’s blood. “You’re a little weasel who’s just tried to cover his own ass by making a run for it. You’re part of the crew that took us prisoner and you may have gotten Edward under your spell but it’s not so easy with me. I see you for who you really are; you’re worth less than the sludge under my boots.”

“Taylor!” Ed snaps. A number of the nearby pirates look over at them as if hoping for a fight to break out.

“You’re not a child and I shouldn’t have to treat you like one, but I think since you’ve always gotten your way in life I might need to. If you even think about following through on that, I’ve got a number of things that I’m going to have to talk to your fiancee about when we land back in England. What was it you said the other day? You’ve only gotten engaged so that you don’t have to give up the country estate, do you think it’s about time I filled him in on the number of men you’ve had in your quarters only since June when the engagement was finalized?”

As his words sink in, Taylor looks like she’s about five seconds away from launching herself across the table and gouging Ed’s eyes out. Her lips are drawn in a thin line and Harry wants to sink even lower in his seat. He’d escape the situation entirely if it wouldn’t draw more attention to himself.

“Hey, Ed, that seems rather uncalled for,” James cuts in. “I mean, he’s not exactly one of us.”

Ed groans. “You’ve all spent a bit too much time on your own estates. You know he’s not an animal, right? When did you wake up with the idea that anyone who doesn’t have a servant to tend to the gardens isn’t worthy of life?”

“B-but he’s a _pirate,”_ Miley, next to Taylor, splutters.

At that quite a few heads turn, and her cheeks grow pink. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Ed scoffs. “Grow some dignity, all of you. Until then, let me finish my meal without all of your inane bickering and complaints. No one is going to say anything about Harry, and that’s the end of that.”

They fall into silence, a bubble that extends only as far as their group as the rest of the room is still full of pirates going about their normal routine. Harry tries to concentrate on that, staring at his food and pretending his life was not just the centre of discussion.

He knows. He knows he can’t stay with Ed. They’re being nice now because Ed has blackmail on Taylor, but the more feelings get amped up here the less safe Harry will feel on Ed’s estate. It wouldn’t work.

Maybe he can find a job in whatever port town they’re dropped in. He’s learned the basics of ships and sailing at this point, he could help out with fisheries assuming they would trust him enough, a stranger in a new town.

He doesn’t really take stock of anything the aristocrats talk about after that, other than the knowledge that they don’t mention his name again. It’s a relief when dinner is over.

They head to the sleeping quarters after dinner; the pirates seem to have no intentions of sleeping any time soon, decks of cards and dice being produced around the table, but the aristocrats - not used to a full day’s work, perhaps - all seem exhausted. Ed doesn’t fight Harry on who gets the hammock, but he does take all of the bedding from his own and lay them out on the floor. It’s three blankets, all of varying size and color, and it’s more comfortable than Harry has been in years, even as Ed shows him how to arrange them so that Harry’s hurt ankle is raised up above the rest of him.

He lays there, the movement of the ship lulling him into a trance, as one after the other men in the room drift off to sleep. Harry’s not sure how long he stays awake for, but when he does finally fall asleep it’s restless, dreams as filled with uncertainty as his waking thoughts are.

—

“That woman tried to seduce me.”

Niall splutters into his drink, banging it down on the tabletop and hacking. “You can’t just start a conversation like that! You could have killed me!”

Louis is frowning, staring down into his own drink. “Am I losing my touch? Am I becoming too soft?”

“I shouldn’t say so, mate. Although when you told me, I did question the decision to only cut off a thumb instead of the whole hand.” Niall takes moves the mug aside and goes back to the cards in his hand, shuffling them around so that they’re in number order. “Which one was it?”

“Hell if I know her name,” Louis lays down a seven. “Blond hair, creepy hands, looks like she’s smelling something nasty.”

“Creepy hands?” Niall picks up the seven and lays down two tens. “I assume you’re talking about the witch they call Taylor, but I can’t say I’ve even noticed her hands. I’m not even sure what creepy hands would look like!”

“Pick those cards back up, you know those won’t help you.” He puts another ten on top of the other two. “I don’t know, they just… are. Anyway, that’s not the point! She came up to me in the corridor and her corset was half undone already and she started saying things about how I needed a satisfying night! I almost vomited on her right there.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No! I wish. I told her if she said that to me again I would leave her in a brothel in France. But Niall, how dare she? I’m a captain! And what about me even made her think I’d like a woman’s touch?”

“I think the bit between your legs made her think that. How’d she take it?”

“Not sure, I just kept walking.” Louis cracks a grin as he picks up the four eights that Niall laid down. “I hope to the Lord above that she doesn’t try to talk to me again, but if she does I might destroy my spotless reputation of returning prisoners to their homes.”

“You don’t have a spotless reputation to begin with,” Niall points out, unhappily shifting through his cards. “You literally left a French diplomat in Spain two months ago. And what about that duke you left on an island south of Italy?”

“I don’t hold myself responsible for anyone who tries to take advantage of any of my crew members. Although when you put it that way, maybe I should leave this woman on an island too, it would serve her right.”

Niall shifts in his seat. “It would, but I think the sooner we drop them all off the better. Hell, I might even say change course and land in England before France.”

Louis looks up from his cards and studies Niall’s face. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says. “You’d _never_ pass up the chance to spend a weekend in a French brothel. What have they done?”

Niall sighs, laying down a two and a six in separate piles before speaking. “They’ve not done anything, I just don’t like them. Nastier than most, I’m telling you.”

“You’re a _pirate,”_ Louis tells him. “I saw you gut a man just two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and he stole money from me, he knew what he was doing. Your plan to make allies all around Europe by giving safe passage to returned prisoners is great, really, but I don’t like not being able to deck them when I want.”

“Is that all?” Louis leans back and takes a drink of the mead at his side. “Deck anyone you want. Returning someone with a few bruises is still a good deed, I figure.”

“And that’s why you wouldn’t survive in high society.”

“That’s why I’m a pirate.”

“You sure are right about that one.”

“Now hand me your cards, you’ve clearly lost this round.”

Louis is pretty sure there’s still something Niall’s not telling him, but there’s only one more day until France, and they’ll be in England before the next month begins, so he figures it’s not worth pushing the matter.

—

It feels like no time at all before the bell is sounding throughout the ship in the early hours of the morning, startling Harry awake. He’s disoriented for a moment, unsure of where he is, until he remembers everything that happened the day before. It had just been one day. A single day that had totally changed his life. He’s a bundle of nerves on this ship, but he’s beginning to think that even with that fear he’s in a much better place here than he was two days ago. There’s too many factors to say for sure, but it’s a starting point.

Routine is a reassuring thing to fall into, and as they head down the hallway to breakfast that’s exactly what happens. They sit in the same place around the end of the table (oatmeal is served, which has much of the crew complaining about the lack of flavour but Harry personally thinks it’s delicious), and straight afterward head down to the laundry room again. It’s chilly up on the top deck, but the ease with which Ed and Harry get back to the same spot they were in for hours the day before is nice, and being able to lose himself in the mindless task is welcome.

They were told that they wouldn’t have to take the clothes down off the ropes they had been hung from, and Harry had assumed that that would be someone else’s job, but now this morning he’s startled to see a number of pirates stripping down to their skivvies directly in front of him, men and women alike, before choosing clothing directly off the lines and throwing it on. It’s sort of funny to watch, especially when two women - a short, curvy blond and a taller brunette - get in a short fight over a corset that they grab at the same moment (the shorter one wins out).

At _The Modest,_ cleanliness was never a priority in the same way, and Harry’s own clothes had only been washed when he had gone for a swim (which was rarely on purpose). Here, on the other hand, it seems that the stack of half-barrels were used as more than just tubs for washing clothes, as a few had been dragged nearer to the drying clothes and are now being slowly filled with steaming water being brought up from below deck.

Harry has never, as far as he knows, seen so many naked men at once. He decides to keep his eyes on his work.

“They seem to be… having a good time,” Ed notes at one point. He’s been telling Harry all about life on his estate back home, the rolling green countryside and the castle that he lives in. “I mean. I don’t think I’ve seen so many arses on the same day since… I’ve definitely never seen so many arses in one day.”

Harry lets out a snort. “You can say that again.”

“Wonder why it’s just men bathing,” Ed muses.

“Because perverts like you would be staring the whole time!” calls a woman from across the deck; she’s the short curvy one who won the fight for the corset. “We bathe below deck unlike these losers.”

“The fresh air does a man good!” calls a skinny ginger man as he strips out of his clothes. “Puts meat on your bones!”

“You are the _worst_ example of that, Oli!” the woman yells back. “You’re about the skinniest son of a gun on this ship!”

They banter back and forth as they move around, as do most of the pirates as they work to man the decks. Harry stays quiet and listens, and Ed often does the same. Time passes.

When the bell clangs signalling lunch, most of the pirates take off at a run, and the aristocrats aren’t far behind.

“I’m going to stay here,” Harry tells Ed. Ed rolls his eyes and is about to disagree but Harry cuts him off. “I’ve never eaten as much in two days as I have between today and yesterday, and if I eat any more right now I might seriously vomit all over everyone. That’s all.”

Ed still looks like he wants to argue but he tamps it down. “I understand that you are technically a grown adult and I won’t baby you,” he says. “Just know that lunch will be sadly disappointing when I just have to spend the whole time listening to those buggers complain.”

“That’s what you do when I’m there too,” Harry says, cracking a grin. “Go on, let me wash in peace!”

Ed leaves and Harry soon finds himself alone on deck. It’s incredible, he thinks, that everything that’s happened is owed to Ed continually interfering in his life. What a meddler.

He’s happy working alone, and thankful for the silence. It’s more how he’s used to working, and it’s the perfect opportunity to take a deep breath and let himself relax, listening to the waves as they crash against the sides of the ship.

Which is why he jumps about a foot in the air a few minutes later when the door at the other end of the deck slams.

It’s the door to the captain’s quarters. Harry’s head snaps up and he finds himself staring directly into the eyes of Captain Tomlinson.

He jerks his head back down again but the damage is done. The Captain’s boots echo as he crosses the deck; they’re measured, a _clack, clack clack_ that makes Harry’s skin crawl.

“The bell for lunch sounded already,” Captain Tomlinson says when he reaches the tub that Harry is perched in front of. “You’re late.”

Harry has heard him speak before, but now, with only the wind and the waves to accompany his voice, he can really tell how distinct it is. His voice is like the crunch of ice underfoot in an early morning, a reedy crackling line a fine musical instrument.

Still, Harry wishes the voice wasn’t directed at _him._

“I heard it,” says Harry, not daring to look further than the Captain’s leather boots. “I apologise, I’m afraid I just wasn’t hungry so I was going to continue working.” He refrains from calling the captain ‘sir’, thinks it might be conveyed as mocking. He’s trying to think like an aristocrat. None of them would have been short on food, unable to keep more down.

“Is our food not good enough for you?” asks the Captain, his voice steely. “My men work hard at preparing meals. I think they’d be terribly disappointed to learn they’re not meeting your expectations.”

Harry flinches, terrified he’s offended without even realising it. He brushes his curls out of his face with a cold, soapy hand. “That’s - no, that’s not it at all! I have a- a stomach ache, and I wasn’t sure I could keep down more food. They’re very good, the meals here.”

There’s a small crack in the wood grain of the ship between the Captain’s boots.

“Hm,” the Captain muses. “Well if you’re not feeling well I shall tell them not to expect you for dinner either. Shame. I hear rumours that they’ve procured peaches for a dessert tonight.”

Peaches. Harry _loves_ peaches.

He nods miserably. “I’m sure people will enjoy it,” he says weakly.

The Captain is silent for a moment. Harry studies the crack in the wood grain and the gold glint of the buckle of the Captain’s boots. “Yes, I’m sure they will,” is all he ends up saying, before turning and walking away toward the stairs.

Harry only looks up once the Captain is a few yards away. His powder blue coat falls just below his knees and sweeps grandly behind him as he descends the stairs. He commands respect in his posture but he’s really… rather short.

When he descends the stairs and disappears from view, Harry lets out a breath. He’s gone without food many days and the oatmeal this morning was filling but- to miss a chance at peaches.

He grabs the bar of soap and pushes his hands back into the cold, murky water to give himself a distraction.

He doesn’t regret not going down for the meal, considering he really might have been more offensive down there than up here, but he’s also eternally grateful about an hour later when people start appearing above deck again, and when Ed plops down across from him he’s carrying  torn hunk of bread that he hands to Harry.

Harry pockets it in his trousers and thanks Ed - if it’s all that he’s going to get for dinner, he’s going to save it. Plus, he wants to show Ed what he discovered while the rest of them were at lunch.

“See those shirts?” he says, pointing behind him at two dripping shirts hanging from the ropes nearest them. “Guess who hung those up!”

Ed laughs, his skin is pink from the sun and his arms are blistered. “You able to walk on your own then? Or did you drag your arse across the deck when no one was looking?”

Harry huffs. “Excuse you. I definitely did _not_ drag my arse anywhere. I just used some convenient walls for support.”

—

It's comfortable. Like, insanely comfortable. Once Harry gets used to the way it sways with the movement of the ship, and positions himself so that he's not precariously close to falling off at any moment, he finds that he's starting to drift off within moments. It's heavenly.

He shimmies down so that his legs are higher than the rest of him - something Ed told him to do - and in no time at all his eyelids are drooping. He figures this might be what sleeping on a cloud would be like. This might be better.

As soon as people start coming in to sleep he'll hop off and curl back up on the floor, but. Until then. He'll live a dream a bit.

—

The _Lady Charlotte_ docks at Le Havre in the early afternoon. It’s a thriving city, the largest port town for miles, and a regular stop for Captain Tomlinson and his crew. The brothels, as Niall keeps asking for, are all well and good but it’s also one of the best stops in France for trading, and a chance to stock up on food, including some fresh fruit for special treats quick before they go bad.

The peaches from the night before were delicious; they had been taken off of _The Modest_ and Louis isn’t sure exactly where they had come from before that, because it’s incredibly hard to find fresh ones this late in August, but they sure as hell weren’t going to let them go to waste. He wonders if they’ll find any more in town today. He should ask Liam to keep an eye out.

On days like today Liam is positively in his element. He’s a rather awkward guy in normal circumstances, too concentrated on making sure things are running smoothly and constantly coming to Louis for his input on things that Louis _knows_ Liam can handle just fine on his own. In town, though, something in Liam is set loose. With Louis out of the picture (because he doesn’t tend to stick around), Liam trusts his own judgment and becomes more confident, trading and haggling and getting exactly what’s needed for the ship. A lot of the crew tends to disappear fairly early to do their own thing but Liam has never seemed particularly interested in drinking _or_ brothels, which Louis used to try to drag him to but eventually gave up when Liam ended up sitting and looking uncomfortable and mopey for whole evenings.

So now Louis leaves him to his own devices and whenever he spots Liam around town he looks younger, excited and intent on what he’s doing - an energy that Louis only _wishes_ he could convince his crew to possess.

It’s like opening the floodgates, docking the Lady Charlotte. People descend upon the town in waves, leaving the ship nearly empty in no time at all.

There are a few people required to stay on the ship, and they rotate for every trip. It'd take a lot to make off with an entire pirate ship, but Louis knows first-hand that if you've got a crew determined enough, anything is possible. They're somewhere down below, though; the top deck is as empty as the moors at Christmas.

He's got his own plans for this stop, and unlike Niall (along with much of the rest of the crew), stopping at a brothel isn't on the docket. He steps back into his cabin long enough to hang his illustrious captain's hat on the wall and change into his nicer boots - the ones that scream _high society_ instead of _six months at sea_.

He pockets the small pouch from the drawer of his desk and heads out, to the finest jewelers in the town.

—

They were told that they _can_ go out into the town, but if anyone isn't there at sunrise the next morning, the Lady Charlotte will feel no remorse about leaving without them.

While the aristocrats did grumble a bit about not having appropriate garments to wear into town, not a single one of them ended up staying behind.

Harry knows this because he was sorely tempted to stay back just because it meant he wouldn't run into any of them, but the desire to leave won out.

After all, he thinks, it's been years since he's been on solid ground.

He's walking better today - slept so well last night the only reason he woke up from the hammock was because the first men who entered the room didn't expect anyone to be sleeping so they woke him up with their conversation. He's still sort of hobbling but he doesn't need any sort of support so he's counting it as in working order. When they get off the boat, Harry separates himself from Ed early on, claiming that he wants to wander out on his own. It's true, but he also wants to be able to walk the streets pretending that he's a local.

As long as he keeps his mouth shut, he reasons, no one will question him. Well, that's a bit of a pipe dream of course looking at the state of his clothes (and shoeless feet), but even the homeless are still technically locals so he continues on, trying to walk as if he knows where he's going.

It's a little difficult to do, it turns out, because he's been at sea so long that he's got jelly legs and keeps pitching about as if the dry land is moving underneath him. He rests a few times early on, sitting on stone walls at the edge of the road, places where he can see down crowded streets and watch the people move past.

He can't speak any language except English, but he recognizes French being spoken by groups of busy people at work, hurrying one way or another. There's also what he thinks might be Spanish, spoken by a couple of fishermen, and another language or two he doesn't recognize at all. The day is bright, if on the chilly side, and the wind whips through his hair and tangles his curls.

He walks toward what he imagines to be the center of town, and ends up in a market square, with stalls lining the outside. They're selling meat, vegetables, fruit, textiles... Harry wishes he had a coin or two to spend but even just being able to walk through the square makes him feel rich.

He spots a few people that he recognizes from the ship, walking throughout the marketplace, but he slips into another corner and focuses instead on a stall he finds seling fruit.

It smells fresh and sweet, and he lets his hand ghost over the selection of peaches, feeling their soft hairs under his fingers.

What if he were to... slip just one into his pocket? Surely no one would-

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Harry spins around, knocking several pieces of fruit to the floor. "What-"

It's Niall. Harry's about to stutter out a question when the woman who's in charge of the shop emerges and starts motioning to the fruit on the ground and then at the two of them, shouting in angry french. The only word Harry catches is _le pirates_. He gulps. How can she tell?

"Whoa," Niall says, jumping back when the woman begins flapping her hands in his face, trying to usher them out of the booth. "Just hold on woman, here." He pulls a coin purse out of his shirt and tucks a coin from it into her hand. Harry's not sure, but he thinks it's way more than what those few pieces of fruit would actually cost.

"Come on," Niall says, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and turning them toward the entrance. Harry lets himself be led out of the stall, seeing out of the corner of his eye as Niall grabs a peach at the last second.

"Take it from me," Niall tells him when they're standing in sunlight in the square. "French people are mean, you do _not_ want to steal from them."

"I wasn't going to, I swear," Harry says, although Niall levels him with a look that has Harry awkwardly shifting his feet, eyes downcast. "How did you even know?"

"You think I don't know what that looks like? Wanting something so basic, so fundamental that it feels like you should have the right to it?" Niall glances at him. "People who have been there know how it goes."

Harry looks at him with wide eyes, but Niall is looking down at the peach he's holding, and then down at the ground at their feet.

"Here," he says, and plops the peach in Harry's hands - which Harry almost drops in surprise - and pulls out the coin purse again. "You are to take this," he says, pulling two coins out, "and buy something for your feet. Preferably boots."

Harry stares down at his hands, which now hold a peach and two coins. "I, um."

"Don't get caught stealing anything," Niall tells him sternly. "The french are mean."

"Right," says Harry weakly. "Um. Are you- are you sure?"

"Of course I am," says Niall. "Now off with you, I have actual work to do. And women to do."

Harry feels like he wants to protest again, but the words don’t leave his mouth and he watches as Niall walks away. Then he looks down at his hands - two coins and a peach. The coins, he assumes, are french and he has no idea how much money he’s been given, but it feels like a lot. It _is_ a lot, as he hasn’t had any money of his own in years.

He wonders how far he could get with this money, even in a city where he can’t speak the language. He also wonders just who Niall thinks he is. Has he not totally blown his cover?

The French hate the English, of course. Even if Harry was able to overcome that and find somewhere that would let an Englishman work, how long until they figure out he was a pirate and kick him out? That woman had known. How had she known?

He couldn’t do that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to survive here, just another dead end in his line of options.

But right now, at least, he has a peach and two gold coins. And Niall told him to buy boots. So he’s probably going to be able to afford boots with these coins. That’s a job that he can get done.

He keeps the peach in his hand and heads further into the marketplace in search of footwear.

—

There's a rat on Louis's ship.

He stalks across the small space of his office. His boots clunk angrily against the worn wooden floorboards.

A _rat._ How dare this piece of scum think that he can worm his way onto Louis's ship without fear of the consequences?

He growls and kicks at the door, creating a satisfying scuff mark.

Oddly, the door swings inward only a moment later, and Louis comes face to face with his navigator.

"You _knew_ ," Louis accuses, rounding on him.

"Yeah," Niall says with a shrug. "I mean, he was kind of obvious."

"Why did you let him on the ship in the first place then?" Louis asks, feeling fired up at the apparent betrayal.

"Listen, Lou. I know you think he's some sort of horrible, nefarious enemy but I think you've not actually _looked_ at the poor lad. He may have been a member of the crew, but that boy is _not_ a pirate. He's about as much a pirate as I am a fairy."

“If he’s got their mark he’s one of them,” Louis growls. “He’s pulled the wool over your eyes. Never trust a pirate, Niall! That’s the first rule of _being_ a pirate!”

“I trust _you,”_ Niall points out.

“Yes well, everyone should trust me. And I’m your captain, so that’s a rule. Trust me to throw him overboard then!”

“No,” Niall says. He folds his arms and leans against the door. “I want you to give him a chance.”

“I need a more substantive reason than _he’s different_. Why didn’t you just leave him there?”

"You wouldn't have either," Niall says. He's calm and collected, the way he always is in arguments like this. It's _infuriating,_ really. "Something about leaving him there - it wasn't right. And he even had one of the nobles on his side, trying to bluff for him."

“That’s not strengthening your case.”

“It is, you’re just stubborn.”

Louis lets out a frustrated breath. He knows how insufferable Niall can be when he’s made up his mind about something. “Let me get this straight. You want me to just give _safe passage_ to a pirate who’s boarded my ship.”

“No.”

“No?! What-”

“I want you to give him a place here.”

“You’re off your rocker.”

“I’m being realistic.” Niall levels him with a look. “He’ll have no sort of life off of this vessel. I was thinking about this, because I figured safe passage too, but he’s not going to survive out there. The majority of those aristocrats would slit his throat at the first given opportunity. He’s got no home or land or fortune. You can’t put a sea dog on land and expect him to hunt for his supper.”

“Would you have me take every lost puppy on board?”

“Of course not,” Niall says. “Although you would. And you have. But no, I’m just asking for this lost puppy in particular.”

“Right,” says Louis. “Fine. I’ll _consider_ it.”

“Tell me he has space or I’m not leaving your office.”

“You infuriate me.”

“You love me.”

“I do no such thing.”

“You’ll make the right decision.”

“I’ll drop you on a deserted island.”

“Your mum’s on a deserted island, I’ll just meet up with her and talk about what a disappointment you are.”

Louis knows they’re just arguing for the sake of arguing at this point. Still, he hates losing.

“As soon as I’m proved right he’s gone. I’ll find a plank for him to walk.”

Niall laughs. “Fine,” he says. “But hold him to the standard of the crew, don’t use the standard of a cane-happy tutor.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Out,” he says. “You’ve bothered me long enough.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” Niall gives a lazy salute and leaves, his laugh echoing down the corridor behind him.

Louis rubs at his temples with a sigh. Sometimes Niall is too caring for this own good. But sometimes Niall sees a brightness in someone that isn’t there, and Louis knows pirates. Especially scumbags who try to desert their ship when they see it going under.

—

At breakfast, Harry sits next to Ed on the end of the bench.

The mess hall is quiet this morning; there’s not a whole lot of pirates who seem to have made it back onto the ship overnight (or if they have, they’re not awake now).

Harry’s honestly feeling overwhelmed - having been on this ship eating regular meals on the daily still hasn’t become normal in his mind, each time he sits down and is handed something besides cabbage soup (which it hasn’t yet been) feels like a miracle he doesn’t deserve.

On top of that is the pair of brand new boots on his feet. He hasn’t taken them off, even when he crawled onto his blankets last night to sleep, too scared that if he did they’d be gone as soon as he closed his eyes.

It all feels too good to be true.

Which is why the second Niall approaches their table, Harry feels dread beginning to pool in his stomach.

“Peaches,” says Niall and Harry’s face heats up as several sets of eyes turn to look. He points to himself and Niall nods.

“Come on then, Captain needs you.”

Right. This is bad. As Harry shakily stands, he looks down the rest of the table and is met with the interested, if unfeeling gazes of the aristocrats who surround him. All of them…except Taylor, who is concentrating carefully on the boiled egg on her plate.

Harry feels anger boil in his stomach. He knows in that moment that she’s gone to the captain about him. There’s a cruelness in her heart that goes deeper than any of those sitting around her.

Ed has apparently clued in as well, and he speaks up, coming to Harry’s defence.

“It’s not what-”

“Don’t care,” Niall cuts off, sounding quite cheerful. “‘Fraid I’m not the captain so it doesn’t matter to me. I like that spirit though.” He nods at Harry before turning and walking out.

Harry follows him - no one else in the mess hall seems to take any notice. Really, Harry thinks a cannon could fire into the mess and a number of these pirates wouldn’t be able to rouse themselves enough to care. They were definitely out on the drink last night.

They leave the mess hall and walk in silence through the corridors, harry slightly behind Niall. He’s afraid to walk next to him. Afraid of what he’ll say.

His thoughts are racing.

If… if the captain knows, he’s not going to just let him go. There’s no point in hoping for anything better, he knows the hearts of pirates. Knows what they’re capable of. This is a death sentence.

He wonders why he didn’t say goodbye to Ed.

They’re still docked at the port in France. He’s pretty sure there are still pirates ashore, waking up in the dirty brothels that they were so raucously cheering for yesterday. Maybe he could make a run for it-

But he couldn’t. He’s walking pretty well now, but even with these new boots there’s no way he could make it far enough fast enough. He’s seen Niall fight.

Oh. Well Niall will be getting the boots back after all, then. He should have never given Harry the money for them in the first place.

Up one flight of stairs and around the corner, and Harry almost runs into Niall when he stops walking.

Niall turns to him, and he’s not looking quite as cheeky as he was downstairs in the mess.

“He’s not as bad as you think,” he says to Harry. “Trust me. Give him a chance, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think he can say much at all at this point, but mostly he just thinks that perhaps Niall doesn’t know.

Niall apparently doesn’t need a response. He opens the door and motions for Harry to go in.

Harry keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he enters. He doesn't _want_ to see the man who will sentence him to death. He wants to be at home with his mum, baking cakes and speaking of town gossip. He wants to be snuggled under the blankets in the overstuffed armchair with Dusty in his lap. He wants-

"Well who's this, then?"

He looks up and meets Captain Tomlinson’s eyes. They’re not alone; Niall’s stepped in behind him and there’s another man behind the Captain, hair cropped short and a less impressive coat on. He looks like he’s still a man in charge, but a step below the man before him.

“Captain, this is-”

The Captain cuts Niall off with a wave of his hand. “I want him to tell me,” he says. “Come on then, who are you?”

Harry’s palms are sweating as he clasps them behind his back. “H-Harry,” he stutters, quick to look back at his feet. His boots. His brand new boots.

“Harry,” the Captain says, as if considering. Harry shivers. “We’ve met before, I believe? You refused to dine with the rest of us, if I remember correctly.”

“I- I wasn’t-”

“You weren’t feeling well, yes, you said. I’m not sure I believe that, though. Rather, I think you were feeling a bit of a guilty conscience, weren’t you?”

Harry tries to keep as still as possible. His fingers shake as he grasps at them.

“Because I hear you’re not what you claim to be, Harry. You’re not a noble at all, are you? No, nothing but a dirty member of _The Modest’s_ crew. Thought you’d make a run for it, did you? Desert your crew when they were going down?”

Harry wants to argue but - it’s true, isn’t it? That’s exactly what he did. And deep inside he was ecstatic about it, so happy to have escaped-

"You know what that tells me, Harry? It tells me that you have no loyalty. That there's no reason to believe that you won't fuck off to another ship the first chance you get and leave your fellow pirates here to drown. Now tell me, why should I let you stay?"

_Stay?_

Harry does look up this time. The man behind Captain Tomlinson looks equally surprised, eyebrows raised but silent. “S-stay, sir?” he gets out.

“Yes,” says the Captain. He stands, pushing his chair back and reaching his full height. “I assume that’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Harry, but then backtracks fast, his mind whirring. He thinks of what Ed has said to him - a job on his estate, working as a lowest of servant. He thinks of the fear he’d have, that any noble would come after him seeking revenge at any time.

He thinks of the marks on his chest and how it means that anyone who sees them, one wrong slip, and they’ll realise immediately who he is, _what_ he is. Tattoos to signify that he can never be a member of society.

Protection can only be granted as long as he’s within sight of Ed. He’d never truly be safe.

“I-” Harry gulps. “I mean, yes.”

“Then _why,”_ the Captain adds careful emphasis to each word. “Should I let you stay?”

Harry scrambles. Flounders. “I can- um- I’m good in the kitchens, sir. Or as an errands runner. I c-can clean. Or work? Anything, sir.”

The Captain stalks slowly around to the front of his desk, his steps echoing in the room. He turns and stands right in front of Harry, looking him directly in the eye.

“Now listen here,” he says, voice slow and serious. “Harry. I need you to know that I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anything that you say or do, and no matter what you manage to do on this ship, you will never truly be a pirate of the _Lady Charlotte._ I will _never_ accept you as one of us, you will never get the tattoo to signify that you’re a member of me crew, do you hear me?”

Harry nods shakily. He’s so close he can see the way the Captain’s blue eyes shine in the light. He could never have expected anything more. He’s used goods, he can’t expect to be treated like everyone else.

The Captain is still staring at him though, clearly waiting for a verbal reply, so Harry manages a “Ye-yes sir,” his mouth dry.

“Right,” says the Captain and he breaks the eye contact and walking away. “Liam, figure out what to do with him, I’m done here.”

He shrugs off his coat and drapes it across his desk before stalking out of the room, the door thudding against the wall as its wrenched open.

Harry thinks he might be coming over faint. He tries to shift his weight and his ankle buckles and then he thinks he _really_ might faint (of embarrassment if nothing else), but a strong arm comes snakes around his side and steadies him. Niall.

“Whoa there, I’ve got you. That ankle still giving you trouble?”

Harry grimaces and rights himself. “I’m fine,” he says quietly. He might not be. It’s not important.

“You’re probably not but we’ll talk about that later.” Niall puts his arm down and walks around in front of him. “Harry, welcome to the crew, great to have you here, et cetera et cetera, this quiet broody bloke is Liam.”

He gestures with a broad motion to the man who’s still leaning against the back wall and surveying him with a keen glance.

“Hello,” says Harry.

Liam nods.

“Liam here is being _particularly broody for no reason,”_ Niall says, looking over his shoulder at the man. Liam breaks into a smile and his whole face transforms into soft curves and happy eyes. Harry can actually feel himself relaxing just looking at him.

“Just thinking,” says Liam. His voice is light and hoppy, like everything is something exciting. “I wasn’t expecting a new crew member, you know. Totally unprepared. Captain never tells me anything. Did you know?”

“‘Course I did,” says Niall. “I actually listen when Tommo speaks, dunno about you.”

“Of course I listen!” Liam says, affronted. “I think Louis just doesn’t like to tell me important information. Likes to catch me off guard, he does.”

“That’s because you’re so fun to surprise, dear Liam,” Niall says.

Liam’s eyebrows draw together, making him look confused rather than serious. “Yes everyone says that but it’s really not true _or_ nice.”

He pushes off of the wall and walks up to Harry, sticking out a hand to shake. “Hello though, we haven’t really met. I’m Liam, quartermaster and bookkeep at your service.”

“Harry,” says Harry. He’s said his name a lot lately.

“Well Louis’s given his thoughts on the matter but he’s letting you stay, so we’ll need a place for you. We could always put you as another deckhand, Louis does love to keep his ship in good order, but I get the feeling you’ve got a bit of a bum ankle and I don’t want you collapsing all over the place.”

Harry goes to defend himself - it’s not _that_ bad, surely he can work - but Niall interrupts him.

“Could use a hand in the kitchens,” he points out. “You know how I hate washing dishes.”

“You don’t _wash_ dishes, you don’t even work in the kitchens!”

“Well that doesn’t change the fact that I hate washing dishes. But anyway Harry can help cook. You know _most_ pirate ships have at least two cooks in the kitchens.”

“I think you’re just making that up,” says Liam, eyeing him suspiciously. “Especially since this is the only pirate ship you’ve ever been on.”

“I was just on _The Modest_ last week.”

“I- That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“So Harry, how does being a kitchens boy sound?”

Harry feels like he’s getting whiplash trying to keep up with Niall. “Um, yes? I can do that.”

“That’s good, Peaches, you made the right decision.” Niall looks triumphant.

“I’ll draw up a contract then,” says Liam, looking positively gleeful. “Your pay and everything, very good to know.”

“Liam we are _pirates,”_ Niall says, exasperated.

“We can still be civilized.”

“Nonsense. Unnecessary. Peaches,” Niall turns back to Harry. “You’ll start tomorrow. Consider today a day off. Go impress those nobles with the fact that you’re still alive and not missing any fingers.”

“Is that a thing the Captain does?” Harry asks, eyes going wide.

“Only sometimes! But that’s not important. Go on! Skedaddle.”

Harry doesn’t skedaddle exactly because his ankle is only so trustworthy, but he does take Niall’s advice and leave, heading in the direction of the mess hall.

There’s a whole new set of bedraggled, clearly pained looking pirates there now, and only Ed is left sitting at the table.

“Harry!” he says when Harry sits down across from him. “My lord, I really thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”

Harry smiles. He feels a tiredness deep in his bones now that he’s starting to get over the fact that he’s not, in fact, dead. “I didn’t either,” he admits.

“I could kill Taylor,” Ed says.

Harry knows that Ed hasn’t experienced real death, real tragedy yet. He can tell by the way he throws around phrases like that. “You couldn’t,” he says. “But I appreciate it. Give her hell when you get back to England though.”

Ed studies him. “Are you not coming with me?” he asks, suddenly suspicious.

Harry puts his head down between his shoulders. “I don’t think I am,” he says. “I’m not sure, but… I think I might be staying here.”

Ed doesn’t say anything for a while, but when Harry looks up, he has a sort of sad understanding in his eyes.

—

“We’re less than a day out from England. From there we gather supplies for the trek across the ocean. We should get there before the summer’s over.”

Louis nods. “That’s good. Finally get those whiny nobles off my ship.”

Niall laughs. “They’ve barely been here at all! And you’ve definitely not interacted with them.”

“Have so!” Louis looks affronted. He feels affronted. “That Taylor woman. She’s come up to me two more times since tattling about the stowaway. Seems to think I’ve just not killed him in order to spite her. The nerve.” He swipes his hat off of his head long enough to run his fingers through his hair, get it into manageable order. “And she propositioned me _again!_ No woman has ever tried so hard to get my attention.”

“That’s because you’ve never met a woman as self-absorbed as her. Can’t see past her own nose she’s too obsessed with whether it’s crooked.”

“It’ll be crooked soon if she tries to spread her legs again.” Louis complains.

“You could just _actually_ go through with your threat to throw her overboard,” Niall points out. “That _would_ shut her up.”

“Yes but I don’t want to have to deal with the rest of them then,” Louis says, pulling a face.

Niall laughs and takes a swig of his beer. Louis rolls his eyes. Niall would probably take her up on it.

He takes a drink of his own beer and sets it on the wooden railing, glancing out and across the waters. England is practically in sight, even with them taking the long way around. The sea is clear and calm, the stars above are dazzlingly bright.

“Do you think we should have sunk _The Modest?”_ he asks, keeping his gaze steady on the horizon.

“I’ve never seen you question sparing someone’s life before,” Niall says after a pause. “What’s happening?”

Louis frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something there just didn’t feel right. They were so old and I sort of felt sorry for them, but I feel like maybe we should have just sunk the whole thing and been done with it.”

“Well,” Niall says. “You live and you learn. Sink ‘em next time.”

They fall into comfortable silence, made easy from years of companionship. The soft crash of the waves against the ship, continual and infinite, clears Louis’s mind like nothing else can. A little over a month until they’re across the ocean.

The sounds of crew members arguing and laughing make their way up to Louis and Niall from the deck below. It’s nice enough weather that they’re up from below deck as well, taking advantage and drinking their fill from the stashes claimed from _The Modest._ Louis smiles, the familiar voices washing over him and carrying across the waves.

A little over a month until he’s home again.

—

When the aristocrats were dropped off onto English shores, Harry considered staying in the kitchens until they were gone, so he didn’t have to face saying goodbye to Ed.

Actually, what happened is he attempted to stay in the kitchens, but Ed found him anyway.

“I’m going to see you again,” he had told Harry. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the last you’ll hear of me.”

“You’re implying that you’re going to get kidnapped again,” Harry had pointed out, trying to stay stoic. “That’s actually not a good idea.”

“You know what I mean you dummy,” Ed chided. He’d seemed to think about going in for a hug, but had settled on just putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m supporting you,” he had said. “I’m praying for your happiness.”

Harry knows he had tried to smile at that. He’s not sure if he succeeded.

He’s started work in the kitchens, just like promised.

The cook's name is Tommy, and he's younger than Harry is. Not that they've talked about that or anything, because they haven't talked about much of anything at all. Tommy's nice, really he is, but he gets the work done and is gone from the kitchens as soon as it's over, no time for unnecessary chatter.

It's nice, in a way. Sure, it's lonely working in silence besides the odd instruction, but Tommy clearly doesn't have any intentions to harm Harry - to punish him for doing something wrong or to push him around a bit just for the hell of it. Living on _The Modest_ … Harry's not able to see the bruises anymore, but some of them he can still feel. He still has the light scars on the backs of his hands.

His chest still bears the mark.

But it is different here. He’s still not sure why; this is still a pirate crew, and he still skirts around everyone he sees in fear that they’ll be in need of a nobody to blow off some steam on. But down here in the kitchens, he’s been given a sort of freedom.

Tommy’s shown him where the food is kept, the storage room down below with barrels and baskets and kegs of food to last for what looks like months. It’s much more than they ever had on _The Modest._ He’s slowly learning the different meals that are cooked, following by watching Tommy work, and the smell of bread rising when it’s made fresh, or warming when it’s being served later in the day, makes him feel warm and calm. It’s a bittersweet happiness, reminding him of home and the bakery they used to live next to.

The most Tommy has ever spoken to him was on the first day, when he’d shown him around the stores down below. He’d gotten to a stack of crates at the very back of the storage room and informed Harry, very seriously, that he absolutely cannot take anything from those crates.

“You can go through pretty much anything else for a snack now and then if you’re quiet,” he had said. “But these belong to Captain Tomlinson and if he found out anyone had touched them they’d be a dead man.”

Harry is perfectly certain he wouldn’t touch those crates if his life depended on it. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to interact with the captain as little as possible, more than a little aware that Captain Tomlinson is the one who says whether he lives or dies.

It’s unfortunate, really, that Harry’s really beginning to notice that he’s quite attractive.

The first time he really sat down and thought about it was the day the aristocrats left. They had been dropped off all together at a port town that they could easily find their way home from. Harry had already started working in the kitchens by then, so he’d spent most of the afternoon in relative silence with Tommy, working on a hearty stew.

Part of his responsibilities now (officially drawn up by Liam into a document) is serving dinner alongside Tommy as well, and collecting the dishes after, so by the time he was free from his duties it was long after the sun set.

That was when he found out that the room he had been staying in up until this point, the hammock room, was only used for aristocrats.

Someone had taken down the hammocks, leaving only the hooks they had hung from, and filled the room with provisions that they had picked up while docked. Even the pile of blankets that Harry had commandeered was gone without a trace.

Unsure of what to do or where he was going to sleep, Harry had wandered the halls back toward the mess hall. He’d passed quite a few pirates but knew none of them, and didn’t dare speak to any of them.

In the mess hall, as there generally had been after dinner ended, were a number of games of cards being played out, and in the loudest of the three groups Harry spotted a familiar face - Niall.

He hadn’t been sure whether or not to interrupt, fearful of what would happen if he did, and had eventually simply taken a seat nearby and waited for what felt like the better part of the night for their game to end.

He was nodding off into his arms by the time the pirates around him began to disperse, and almost missed Niall leaving altogether, having to get up and run after him to catch him.

“Niall,” he had said, hushed like he was afraid to attract the attention of any of the other pirates.

Niall had raised his eyebrows. “Peaches? You all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry shifted his weight. “I mean. It’s just, well, the room I was sleeping in, um, I can’t sleep there anymore? I was just wondering, you know…” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure if he was _allowed_ to ask for that sort of thing.

It took a moment before comprehension dawned on Niall’s face. “Oh, you were in the room with the nobles,” he said.

Harry nodded.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Niall had said. “We should have found you somewhere new when you became a member of the crew. I don’t know who has an extra bunk in their room, unfortunately. Louis’s the one who keeps track of that, so you’ll have to ask him. I think he’s up on top deck, you could catch him now if you’d like.”

Louis. Captain Tomlinson.

Harry had panicked. He’d agreed, said that he’d go ask the captain, knowing full well that he could never ask, feeling fear coursing through him at the mere thought.

So that night, he’d slept in the kitchens.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

He thinks Tommy knows, has walked in a few times and caught Harry still in his (yet another) makeshift bed made out of the burlap that held the potatoes from the stew earlier in the week. Still, he never says anything and Harry doesn’t either.

It’s not bad, honestly it isn’t. The kitchens tend to run warm because of the coals, and he feels rather safe where he is, tucked up behind a bench and alone.

But that first night, lying there and thinking of whether or not to ask the captain for room and bed, that was when he had discovered that he sort of liked the picture of the captain his brain conjured up. Blue eyes and feathery hair and the hat he always wears with the feather that drapes over the side.

Not that he would ever let on to a living soul that that’s how he feels.

—

Twice a year the _Lady Charlotte_ and her crew make the journey from the Celtic Sea west through the Atlantic Ocean, a journey that on a good trip takes them six weeks on a good trip, and ten on a bad.

They’ve experienced the bad more times than Louis likes to admit, but times have been better recently. The crew isn’t so inexperienced anymore, they know how to work the ropes and not get wildly off course while he sleeps.

Louis paces his office, the map spread out on his desk. He’s been doing a lot of pacing recently, always does when they set off for the islands. He gets antsy, doesn’t want to have to wait so long to get back.

Plus, there’s a lot less to be done when they’ve set a long course like this. Niall’s on his case time and time again about how much he re-checks their position when it’s not even his job to navigate.

He lets out a breath and forces himself to stop pacing. Maybe it’s time to be around other people for a while, let some steam off.

He emerges from his office and makes his way up the stairs to the main deck. It’s midmorning and the air is salty and warm, the skies clear.

“Captain!”

He turns to see Oli and Calvin sitting around one of the laundry tubs, shirtless with their feet in the water as they work (Oli’s already turned a blistering red).

“Hallo,” Louis says, walking over.

“We never see you anymore,” Calvin complains. “You’re hiding from us all, aren’t you? Got some deformity you don’t know about?”

“What, like any deformity I could have would be uglier than your ugly mug,” Louis says. Oli laughs and there’s a cheer from a few people manning the sails.

“I can’t believe you’d hurt me like this,” Calvin says, clutching at his heart dramatically. “Come on, for this pain I think you at least owe me a day off. Try my job for a day I’ll try yours.”

“You try being the captain and I think the ship will be sunk by sundown,” Louis says. “But if you want to take the afternoon off, I’ll just tell Bebe you were trying on her corset again, I remember how you passed out the last time the two of you got in a fistfight.”

“She fights dirty,” Calvin groans. “Straight for the privates! That shouldn’t be allowed!”

“We’re pirates, not the navy,” Louis shrugs. “Maybe protect yourself a bit better next time.”

Banter with Calvin and Oli has always flowed naturally. He picks up crew members all over the place, but the two of them were special circumstances. He’d known the two of them when he was little, but had lost touch when his family had moved. Years later, on a trip into town to barter his looted treasure away for food, he’d found the two of them working as (incompetent) pickpockets in the city center. As crew members they complain about menial tasks fairly regularly but they’re good workers in the end, and good for a laugh when Louis needs it.

He walks on, saying hello and taking stock of his crew. Bebe, Perrie, Nick, Greg… Each of them filling individual roles on the deck, keeping it clean and repaired, keeping the sails in the correct position, Scott keeping the washing from blowing away and Steve at the very end of the deck adjusting his new creation where it sits; a mermaid made out of wood and metal that he’s been sculpting from spare pieces to fit onto the front of the ship.

“Every pirate ship is supposed to have a figurehead,” he’d told Louis about a month back. “I’m just making sure we have the perfect one.”

The mermaid is certainly interesting, especially considering the two large bird wings that Steve has affixed to her back. “To be a part of the crew,” he explains, making sure that they’re steady.

Steve’s own swallow tattoo sits just above his heart; a little bird just about the size of the palm of his hand. He’s been working shirtless and Louis watches the bird stretch as he flexes.

Louis’s own tattoo runs down his arm. It’s bigger than the tattoos of any of his crew, which is just as it should be, and he takes great pride in it. No two crew members have the same swallow tattoo, but they all have one and that’s what truly ties them together.

Well, all except for Harry.

Louis still doesn’t trust him, but he also never _sees_ him. If it wasn’t for the fact that he seems to have taken up a position serving meals, Louis would be rather convinced that he jumped ship altogether.

He’s rather hung up on him sometimes, to be honest. Waiting for Harry to finally step out of line and show who he really is - the pirate who abandoned his crew when he saw they were going down. The pirate who tried to con a group of nobles into giving him a better life. He’s got curly hair only a bit longer than Louis’s that he ties up in a faded scarf every day, and he also seems to be about the only one who doesn’t throw his clothes in with the rest of the laundry pile, considering whenever Louis sees him he’s wearing that same horribly ripped and tattered outfit rather than just go shirtless while it’s being washed.

Maybe Louis would trust him a bit more if he at least _tried_ to make friends with the rest of the crew.

But maybe Louis just doesn’t trust him.

—

Harry has made three friends, and just about as many enemies.

Okay, Tommy is neutral, he doesn’t technically count as a friend but he’s there too.

His friends consist of Niall, Liam and a girl named Dua with a strong accent that she tells Harry is Albanian. Sometimes Dua appears in his kitchen when Tommy is gone and offers to help him wash the dishes, but more often she coaxes him onto the middle deck to sit in the sun for their spare moments between work.

Niall isn’t always a friend so much as a force of nature, there when you need him and gone when you don’t. He seems close with everyone on the ship, everywhere at once and suddenly gone again because he, as he says, can _feel_ when the ship is going off course. Everyone talks about how he’s the best navigator there is and then Niall just laughs.

Liam is more of an odd one, because he’s Louis’s right hand man and often hard at work writing and re writing and scratching back out again things in his big black book, but when he takes a moment for a break he likes to come down to the kitchens and sit while Harry and Tommy work, remarking on the oddest things with the most nonsensical of comments.

“Do you think we could make an entire meal out of apples?”

“I heard potatoes are excellent for burns. It’s too bad pirates just don’t get many burns.”

“Do you think we could grow a garden on the ship?”

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer to these questions, but sometimes Harry does anyway, and then Liam looks pleasantly delighted. He seems to like being listened to.

Harry can feel himself forming a careful and tentative group of friends and he holds onto them tightly in his heart. So much about this place is so _different_ from _The Modest_ that he’s beginning to think maybe, just maybe, he can have a home here. Even without a proper crew tattoo.

Tattoos are too painful, anyways.

It is true, though, that there are a few people on the ship who haven’t taken as kindly to him. He’s not even sure _why,_ isn’t sure what exactly they’re objecting to, but it’s a group of three men who are always together, generally swabbing the deck or in the mess hall when Harry sees them. He only knows one of them by name - Logan. The other two are just Logan’s Friends.

They don’t like him. They jeer as he walks past and a few times if no one else is around they’ve shoved him to the ground and spit on him before walking off and leaving him there.

They’re always all three together, and so any time Harry recognizes any of their voices he goes the other way.

The thing is, they’re still _nothing_  like the crew of _The Modest._ If the worst that happens is a bit of spit on his face once in a while or a light bruise to the back, that’s still leagues better than how it was.

How it was, with the purpling green bruises from being thrown down to the holding where the captives were if he didn’t get there fast enough, the humiliation of cleaning up after some of them even as they’re too drunk to know what they’re saying to him, the awful things they’re suggesting they’ll do to him, the lasting burn from fingers wrapped around his neck when he’s broken something. The tattoos, stinging for days on end.

A bit of spit is nothing.

It’s been a long time since there’s been any sight of land as far as Harry can tell, and people keep mentioning _the island_ if he asks where they’re headed. Harry’s making himself a life here, and as days turn to weeks, a sense of normalcy begins to unfold. He doesn’t go outside his circle of friends to talk to, but besides Logan and his two men, the crew members don’t treat Harry especially good or bad. They’re neutral to him, and that feels like more than enough.

—

Thirty two days into the journey, and Louis just cannot get it out of his head.

“I don’t know Niall, I don’t know what it is but I don’t like it. We should have sunk _The Modest_ when we had the chance.”

The three of them - Louis, Niall and Liam -  are sitting at the table nearest the door in the hall, eating their way through fresh bread rolls and waiting for salmagundi to be served.

“You’re becoming a bit obsessive,” Niall notes. “Are you sure there’s no reason you can think of? Nothing stands out?”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s just a feeling, you know? I don’t get it, but I don’t like it. I feel like they deserved worse than losing their gold and their captain’s thumb.”

“Well I always thought the thumb thing was a bit odd myself,” Liam jumps in. “I mean, it’s not the most memorable signature move for a pirate to have, is it? You could very well get into some sort of accident and slice your thumb off all on your own, then it’d look like you did it to yourself, you know?”

Niall stares at Liam. “That makes no sense,” he says.

“Okay,” says Liam. “Fair.”

Louis frowns, scrunching his face up. “We’re going to do it as soon as we’re back in the fall,” he says. “I want that ship decimated. If it’s still around it’s going under.”

“Whatever you say, Captain!” Niall says, throwing a mock salute.

Louis snorts, and is about to say something very sarcastic when he finds himself thrown forward into the table as something large and wet hits his back, covering him in slop.

“What-” Louis wipes his shoulder off and sees the fish, onion and limp lettuce that falls to the floor.

The whole room erupts into noise - laughter at Louis and the fact that he seems to be covered in plates worth of salmagundi, and yelling about all sorts of things that Louis can’t understand. He whirls around and comes face to face with the culprit -

Harry.

Of course it’s fucking Harry.

“You,” he snarls, his temper getting the best of him. He’s _disgusting_ and covered in the last week’s worth of leftovers and he’ll likely smell of fish for _days._ “You’re going right to the bottom of the ocean with them,” he says. “I’ll stick you right back on _The Modest_ as soon as I find it, what the _fuck_ were you _doing-”_

But before he’s even done talking Harry has turned tail and run. Louis sees red. Harry is running _again._ Just like when he ran from his last ship. He probably won't accept consequences for anything, will he?

Well he will this time. Louis shucks off his coat and, even as the din in the hall continues, races out the door to catch him.

—

Harry can’t breathe.

Harry can’t _think._

There’s a pounding in his mind, a darkness pulsating at the corners of his eyes.

_The Captain said-_

_He said-_

_Send me back-_

_He can’t, he can’t send me back!_

_He will, he doesn’t care-_

_Can’t go back-_

_Can’t-_

_They’ll see- they’ll see the fading tattoo, they’ll know-_

_Know I wanted to get rid of them._

He runs without direction, just needing to _get out, get out, get away_ until he realises, his mind whirring and jumping and fumbling for an answer, anything that’ll help-

The kitchens.

The fire.

He runs inside the kitchens, to his own bed in front of the fire, collapsing on it and hugging the burlap over himself, like some sort of protection. He huddles and pulls his knees to his chest and tries to breathe- _deeper, slower, slow, please-_ but even that’s not working much. He sobs into his knees, ugly and loud.

If he goes back to _The Modest_ they’ll know. They’ll know he tried to escape again and he’ll be punished even worse than last time. Last time had been years ago, and he had learned better. The largest butterfly, the tattoo they branded right across the center of his chest, was his warning, his punishment, his promise that it would only be worse next time. He scratches at his chest, pulling up his shirt The two butterflies under his collarbones are always raised and angry, but nothing like the one in the middle of his chest, angry and red and deformed from all the times the pirates went over it, held him down and took burning coal to his stomach.

To teach him the lesson.

He’s a pirate now, it’s all he can ever be.

But they’ll _know,_ and they’ll make it worse. It hasn’t hurt in weeks and Harry had been so careful not to take his shirt off so he never saw them, never saw the mottled healing that had started, his tattoos beginning to scab over, no longer feeling like a hot and rough hand holding him down.

They’ll _know,_ though. They’ll know he ran and they’ll- it’ll start all over again, just like last time. _They’ll tell him the tattoo is faded, they need to fix it, they’ll-_

_Unless it’s not faded._

He can barely see, eyes thick with tears, but he knows what he has to do. He has to- if he uses the poker himself it won’t be so bad. It’ll show them that he knew who he belonged to the whole time. They’ll go easy on him, right?

He crawls the few feet to the fire, still burning low and hot from cooking onions for dinner - _for the dinner that he poured all over Captain Tomlinson because Logan tripped him, just grabbed onto his leg and held on-_

The coals are hot. He flinches at just the idea but he has to- right? He has to make sure the tattoo isn’t faded.

He strips off his shirt, struggling as it catches in his hair, and then looks down. The three butterflies on his chest, burned into his skin to show what he is forever.

He grabs the poker that’s used to stoke the fire and uses it to fish a coal out of the fire, shakily pulling it towards him.

But before it gets near enough the door to the kitchens bangs open with a slam that makes the hanging pans clatter against one another.

_“What the fuck- Get the fuck away from the fire-”_

And Harry’s vision fades to black.

—

Harry is _fast._

Louis can’t figure out where he went, and the longer he runs the more he starts to calm down. He smells gross, and is definitely getting into a bath after this.

But still, where the _fuck_ did Harry go? Louis may not be boiling angry anymore but he still wants to get a good complaining in, maybe cover him in salmagundi right back, but the kid seems to have disappeared off the ship altogether. Everyone else is still at dinner and room after room that Louis looks into turns up empty.

“Louis!”

He turns and finds Niall coming up behind him.

“Niall! There you are! Did you see where he went?”

“No,” says Niall and he looks angry. Why does he look angry? He’s not the one covered in onions and fish!

“Have you had a single conversation with Harry?” Niall asks, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Now is _really_ not the time, Niall. I know you love the kid but you’re not the one he dumped dinner all over.”

“Oh shut up,” Niall snaps. “If you had talked to Harry for more than ten seconds you would have realised Harry is terrified of his old crew. Any time I’ve mentioned them he clams up and looks like he’s about to fucking cry. I don’t think he chose that life, Louis! And if you had spent five minutes getting to know him you’d think the same! I don’t know how you’ve managed to get a grudge against him when you’re one of the most kind guys I know generally, but you’re being a complete bastard.”

Louis stares incredulously at Niall. “I- what?” He gapes. Processing the information Niall just threw at him is a lot. Harry hates his own grew? That can’t be right, surely he’s just scared of them finding out where he is because he jumped ship.

But then… Louis thinks back to that day on the ship, thinks about how old everyone was. They had looked like they dined well (and from what Niall had taken Louis could hazard a guess that they did). Harry was young. Skinny to the point of looking frail, not that Louis had ever stopped to look.

He didn’t seem like the kind of person who could pull the wool over a noble’s eye, especially not one he was supposedly holding captive.

“Okay,” Louis says, running a hand through his hair and ridding it of slop. “Niall, what room does he sleep in? I need to find him.”

Niall frowns. “You should know that,” he says. “I told him to come to you when he needed a bed.”

Louis’s chest tightens. Things are still fitting into place in his mind, but- of course Harry wouldn’t have come to him. Not if he wasn’t a member of _The Modest_ by choice, which is what he’s beginning to realise. He wouldn’t want to come to the captain for anything.

“Shit,” Louis says. He tries to think. He just doesn’t _know_. Maybe if he had gotten to know anything about Harry he would be able to guess where he’s gone now, but…

Well, he’s still on the ship. That’s definitely true.

“The kitchens,” Niall says, breaking into his thoughts. “He works in the kitchens. He’s always there.”

Louis takes that in. Good enough. “Thanks Niall,” he says, running in the direction of the stairs. “I owe you!”

“Yeah you do, you wanker!” Niall calls after him, but Louis’s already to the stairs, bounding down them towards the kitchens. He gets to the end of the hallway and throws open the door, feeling his heart stop as he finds Harry, half collapsed onto the floor, one hand reaching for the coals of the fire.

_“What the fuck- Get the fuck away from the fire-”_

Harry startles, jolting, and he looks to Louis with wide, fearful eyes for only a moment before Louis sees his whole body goes limp, collapsing to the floor.

—

The day he got the brand was the worst.

There were a lot of bad days on _The Modest,_ especially back in that first year when he was mourning the the loss of his family and just trying to survive day-by-day, but the day he got the brand it felt like all the lights went out. He could no longer see a way out of the situation, no longer think about life after the ship.

He hadn’t struggled at first, when they dragged him in front of the tattooist. Simon had loomed over him, told him that he should be happy to be taken under their protection. _Protection_ is what he’d called it! As if they had _saved_ him from the fire that had started in his home, the happy little cottage that he’d spent his childhood.

As if they hadn’t been the one to start it.

He hadn’t struggled until they pulled the brand from the fire, glowing hot, and pressed it against his skin. He’d screeched then, the numbness he had been feeling replaced with shock, fear, _pain._ Half the crew at least must have been there, watching him like a wild animal caught in a trap, the few nearest jumping forward to hold him down by the shoulders, the arms, the legs.

The first time it had been on the right side, between his collarbones and his heart. The searing pain felt like it would melt right through him, leaving a cavernous hole behind. In the midst of everything he could see Simon shaking his head, saying something Harry couldn’t hear, but learned later.

“He moved, it’s not a clean outline. Again.”

The second brand went on the other side of his chest, a matching set. Two butterfly outlines forming searing scars.

He’d been left alone eventually, too unresponsive to be a fun plaything for the crew members any longer. He can still remember lying on the floor where he’d fallen and knowing that this meant he’d never be able to live a normal life again, even if he did escape. A mark like this would last forever.

It’s an echoing thought in his mind now, even as everything else is fuzzy and unknown. What’s happened?

He brings a hand up to his face and squints open his eyes only slightly against the light of wherever he is.

Where is he?

He tries to sit up, but someone’s hand is on his chest, holding him down. Their skin is warm and rough against his own.

Against his own bare skin-

It comes back to him in shattered elements, piecing together and making him shudder. The mess hall, the kitchens, the fire-

The Captain.

He struggles harder to sit up now. He’s just- he’s _passed out_ and _Captain Tomlinson_ is here. And Harry is _shirtless._ It’s just going to be more of a reminder to the Captain of how he’s not supposed to be here. He doesn’t want to get sent back! No life among pirates is a good life but at least here he feels-

_Safe._

“Stop,” Captain Tomlinson says, voice commanding and sure. Harry melts, laying back onto the ground and trying to slow his breathing.

The Captain is studying him, staring at him and Harry looks away, stares across the floor. He feels mortified. Wants to cover up.

When he glances back, the Captain’s gaze has shifted down to his chest. Harry’s arms twitch but he doesn’t cross his arms and hide the marks. He might as well get it all over with now. Let the Captain make judgments about where to send him and be done with it.

“Where is your tattoo?” Captain Tomlinson asks, breaking the silence.

Harry frowns. “You’re- you’re looking at them,” he stutters. He raises his hand and ghosts along the raised lines. The two below his collarbones, stamped over and over again every time he needed “teaching”. The large one above his stomach.

“These,” the Captain says slowly. His fingers rest lightly on the one above his heart and Harry shivers. “These are _not_ a pirate’s tattoo. Harry, you have to have seen the tattoos this crew has.”

Harry has. The swallow sits proudly on the flag that flies from the mast, and it’s inked into the skin of everyone here. The tattoo he can never have. Their crisp black lines look so different from his own raised red marks.

“They told me-” he swallows. “That it was to show I wasn’t of the same rank. I’m- I’m a servant.”

“Slave.”

Harry’s eyes widen. The Captain looks furious.

“This isn’t a tattoo Harry, it’s a _brand._ They’ve branded you like cattle. No pirate tattoo looks like this. You don’t have a tattoo, you have scars.”

Harry wants to curl in on himself, he wants the Captain to stop gazing at him as if Harry’s insides are splayed open on display. This time when he sits up, the Captain doesn’t try to stop him. He wraps his arms around his middle, feels the rough skin under his hands.

“You’re sending me back,” he whispers, staring at the ground. “Right? I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to trip, I didn’t mean to-” he chokes, tears beginning to sting his eyes again.

“I don’t think you understand, Harry.”

Captain Tomlinson makes a sound of frustration, like a growl but muted. Like he’s trying not to sound so angry. “A brand doesn’t make you a pirate. It makes you a slave. It tells me you weren’t given a choice, and it tells me you weren’t… I should have ordered to see your tattoo immediately.”

He stands up suddenly, the heavy sound of his boots echoing around the kitchen as he paces. Harry’s noticed he’s always pacing.

“Look,” he says eventually, turning and leveling Harry with a stare. “I just want to make it clear right now you’re never going back on that ship. You got that? Slavery is just another sort of hostage situation and if there’s one thing I hate it’s holding someone against their will. Do you hear me? I will burn that ship until it rests on the ocean floor where it belongs.”

He turns back to Harry and then gets onto his knees with a thunk, reaching out and cupping Harry’s jaw with gentle, work-worn fingers. “Harry,” he says, voice serious. Harry’s breath stutters. “Being a pirate is about freedom. You know nothing about what real piracy is, and I want to teach you. If you have a real home to return to, I’ll take you there as soon as we’re back in England, but if you don’t I want to offer you a _real_ place here.”

—

Everything in Louis aches with his desire to make things right. Harry absolutely deserves more than this, and it’s like jumping into a hole and realising it’s a well, hearing him speak.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, eyes dark and earnest. “I don’t know, I don’t- have a home.” He gulps and pulls away from Louis’s fingers. “I did, before _The Modest_ came. But I don’t. But piracy doesn’t… It’s not freedom.”

“It is,” Louis insists, because this is important to him. There’s no reason for what he’s built up if not to have a chance at true freedom. “But I can show you. I can give you a home. If you don’t want to be a pirate, I can- I can give you a place to stay instead.” He feels like his insides are filled with sifting sand, this isn’t something he offers to people. It’s not an option he wants to give to anyone, normally.

“We’re heading towards the islands. When we get there, if you truly don’t want to live life as a pirate, I can give you a home there instead. It won’t be nice or fancy or anything, but if that’s what you want I can give it to you.”

He sees Harry’s confusion plain on his face. He can see distrust and he can see sadness. He can read Harry’s face like he can read his own sisters’. It’s open, even after years of what Louis assumes must have been torture. It’s a spirit bruised but not broken.

“Yes,” says Harry, after a long while. Louis’s not sure what Harry’s saying yes to, but he’s not sure Harry knows either.

“Okay,” says Louis. Harry looks a touch less frantic when Louis assures him, so he does it again. “Whatever you want, that’s what will happen. Your life can be about your choices now.”

—

Louis gives Harry a bed.

Technically, Niall gives Harry a bed.

As soon as Louis’s finished speaking, the two of them still crouched on the dirty floor of the kitchens, Niall bursts in. Something tells Harry that Niall had been just around the corner for longer than Harry likes to think about.

Niall’s good with the practicals. That’s why he’s the navigator (or so he says).

“You’re staying in my room,” he says, confident as ever. “Where Liam and I can keep an eye on you.”

Harry looks over to the Captain, feeling unsure, but he’s rolling his eyes, a fond if exasperated smile on his face.

“Niall will handle the beds,” the Captain says. “And I’m relieving you of kitchen duty for the next two weeks until you give me the decision on whether or not you truly want to be here.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “No, I should- I should work. I wouldn’t want to- to leave Tommy-”

Captain Tomlinson snorts. “Tommy’s only on this ship for the next two weeks anyway, I think he can survive until we land.”

“You just want to establish dominance,” Niall says with a grin.

“That’s a barbaric way to say it but yes thank you Niall, that’s exactly what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but Harry feels like he needs to say something anyway. It’s just that his thoughts are so jumbled that he’s not sure what exactly.

“Niall,” Captain Tomlinson says, interrupting his racing thoughts.

“Tommo,” Niall says.

“How quickly can you get that hammock ready then?”

“Soon as I push Logan out of it,” Niall says.

Harry’s eyes widen. “No, don’t-!”

Niall raises an eyebrow and Harry realises that Niall knows. There might honestly not be much that Niall _doesn’t_ know.

Captain Tomlinson looks confused. “Is this-”

“Do you trust me, Tommo?”

“With navigating my ship and not killing us all?”

“Trust me with this too and let me finally get rid of Logan.”

“You can’t _kill_ him,” Harry squeaks before he can stop himself.

Captain Tomlinson looks back at him with a shocked expression. “Niall’s just going to throw him down into a holding room. _Right, Niall?”_

“I don’t like to lie.”

“Niall might also maim him. We’ll have to talk about it.”

“That’s closer to the truth.”

“You might need more explicit permission for more than that, but that’s where we’re starting.” The captain looks back toward Harry. “Fair? No unprecedented killing without a trial.”

Harry gulps. He nods, eyes wide.

“Good,” says Niall. “Now that that’s settled. Give me ten minutes.”

“Fine,” Captain Tomlinson waves his hand. “Off you go.”

Niall snickers. “I see where I’m not wanted.”

Captain Tomlinson waits until he leaves before turning back to Harry. “Captain’s orders,” he says. “Are bed rest and meeting the crew. You can’t decide whether or not you want to be a pirate without experiencing all the good parts that come with it.”

Before Harry can agree or disagree, Louis stands up and begins unbuttoning his overcoat. “And your blouse might not be wearable at this point, but you can wear this until you get something that’s been cleaned, since I doubt that that thing ever has been.” He takes the long, powder blue overcoat and drapes it over Harry’s shoulders.

“I- I can’t,” Harry says. This is a _captain’s coat._ “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Captain’s orders,” Captain Tomlinson repeats, his voice leaving no room for question.

Harry closes his mouth. He nods, fingers brushing over the trimming. It’s thick and heavy and Harry’s afraid even touching it will dirty it.

The captain begins pacing again, as Harry pulls his arms through the sleeves. Without the coat on, the captain looks much smaller, his waist slim and his vest perfectly fitted.

Harry still has too many thoughts going around in his head but one of the most prominent is that the captain is not at all who Harry once thought he was.

It seems like mere moments later when Niall comes bursting through the door again. “I did it!” he says. “Slimy bastard- Oh Harry! Nice coat!”

Harry realises what this must look like and blushes, his cheeks heating furiously.

“Come on then,” Niall says, taking no notice. “Tommo always used to tell his sisters that the best thing to do in a time of confusion is to take a nap and leave everything to him.”

_“Niall!”_

“What? It’s true.” He turns to Harry. “Do you need help standing? Is that ankle better?”

“Ankle?” Captain Tomlinson whips around and Niall lets out a bark of a laugh.

“Bit late now, Tommo.”

“I can stand,” Harry says, although he’s taken over with a moment of dizziness as he does.

Quickly righting himself, he follows Niall, who puts a steadying hand on his shoulder as they walk.

“Bye Lou!” Niall calls behind them, before turning to Harry. “He’d like it if you called him Louis, you know.”

Harry splutters. “I- um-”

Niall shrugs. “Just something to consider.”

The room he leads Harry to is on the level just below deck, so it even has a small window that shows the sea stretching out in front of them. Three hammocks hang in the space, and Niall points him to the one that looks to have been recently cleared, judging by the blankets on the floor below it.

“We’ll get you some new linens,” he says. “Just need to steal them from somewhere else first.”

Harry doesn’t really care. The coat he’s wearing is heavy, and although he thinks maybe he should, he doesn’t take it off before carefully climbing onto the hammock. It feels like heaven.

“Niall,” he says, unsure of how to ask. “How do I-”

“Thank him?” Niall grins when Harry nods. “We all ask ourselves that sometimes. Let me know if you ever come up with an answer.”

And with that he’s gone, closing the door behind him.

Harry sinks into sleep so quickly that when he later wakes up he has to question where reality ended and dreams began.

—

For the last week and a half, Louis has been spending the majority of his time pacing.

It’s a bad habit that he’s normally better at controlling, but… It’s been rough.

He’s been trying to stand back and let Harry grow, let him really decide for himself whether he belongs on the crew of the _Lady Charlotte_ or not. The problem is, Louis is certain that Harry does, and it takes everything in him not to be at Harry’s side every step of the way.

Some of it is definitely guilt. As a captain, it’s his job to make sure that those above his ship are properly taken care of, and he knows he failed that with Harry. When he closes his eyes he sees those butterflies burned across his chest, a permanent reminder of his past.

Some of it is… something else. Now that he’s letting himself reflect on the little that he does know about Harry, he’s beginning to see what sort of a person he is, and under all the fear and uncertainty, Louis sees someone that he desperately wants to know more about.

Watching from his spot at the helm of the ship, he’s seen Harry as he begins to interact with the crew. Tentative conversations, relationships in the making. He seems to be close with Dua (good, she’s a good one), and it startles him how much Niall and Liam have apparently already taken him under their wing.

How could Louis have been so blind?

He knows how. He knows he’s not perfect, and he knows he’s quick to judge someone that he views as having abandoned their people.

He might be making up for that for the rest of his life, he just rather hopes Harry will be around that long.

—

Everyone has been talking about _the island._

Harry doesn’t know what they mean.

But apparently they should be able to see it anytime now. He spent a lot of his time on _The Modest_ below deck, and was never allowed off the ship as it was, but still he’s not sure he’s ever been on a ship for so long without it docking somewhere before. Simon was a fan of keeping close to the continent, following the same old paths. Harry gets the feeling they’re pretty far now from wherever those paths had been.

Lying in his hammock (which Harry has been spending a _lot_ of time in), one leg stretched lazily over the side, Harry is half asleep when Liam opens the door, banging it against the wall in his excitement.

“We’ve seen the shore!” he says excitedly to Harry. “We’re docking tomorrow! Finally!”

Harry smiles at him, although his stomach flips a little. Louis had told him that he would have to give him his decision when they got to the island. “Where exactly are we?” he asks. “Why is everyone so excited?”

Liam smiles so wide his eyes scrunch shut. “Oh you’ll love it, Harry,” he says. “It’s always green and the water is so beautiful and clear and you can meet my- you can meet Zayn! I mean, I’m sure Louis wants you to meet his family too, but I’m sure you’ll just love Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Harry sits up _(carefully-_ he’s flipped himself out of this hammock more than once). “You have a Zayn?”

Liam looks bashful. “He’s not- well he is, technically. I guess you could say that. The island, it’s _different._ There was barely anyone here the first time we came, and so everyone who’s there knows us, you know? It’s a place where you can be exactly who you want to be.”

Harry wonders if he knows what Liam is talking about, but he thinks he does. He’s heard Niall joke about some crew members aboard this ship - about them being different than him (but being okay with that).

“Is Zayn…” Harry phrases his words carefully. “Is he your closest person?”

Liam nods, looking a little unsure. “Absolutely,” he says. “Zayn is the person I want to come home to for the rest of my life.”

Harry’s heart stutters at that. He’s never heard anyone say that out loud before. Never dared to think he wasn’t the only one who might feel like that.

“You’re okay with that,” Liam says, “aren’t you, Harry? Because that’s sort of a requirement on this ship. Being okay with that. Captain’s rules.”

Harry’s heart does a _flip_ at the phrase. “Of course,” he says, although his tongue feels heavy. He feels like he did almost two weeks ago, having shock after shock sent through his system as his worldview was changed.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, just to be sure Liam doesn’t misunderstand him.

“Good,” says Liam, and he looks a little relieved. “You’re going to love Zayn. I’ve never met anyone so wonderful.”

Liam excuses himself soon after, much too excited to sleep, he says.

Harry is too, now.

He gets up, swinging his legs down onto the floor and pulling on his boots. Making his way out and into the hall, it seems apparent that most of the crew is on deck, their voices ringing out in another sea shanty that Harry has yet to learn (although they’ve been teaching him quite a few, Steve especially).

When he makes his way above deck he sees them, all strewn out and joyful, clearly knowing they’re going to be on dry ground soon. Torches along the outer edge light the deck and the stars are bright in the cloudless sky.

He makes his way along the edge and climbs the steps to the top deck at the front of the ship. It’s smaller and almost deserted, with only one man standing at the helm and watching the waters crash below.

This is where Harry generally sees him, although he hasn’t had the confidence to approach him before now.

Louis must hear his footsteps because he turns, his face lighting up. “Harry?”

“Is this- do you mind?” Harry asks, stopping in his tracks. Louis’s about the only person on the ship that still makes him nervous.

“Of course,” Louis says, motioning. “I mean- I don’t mind. Is everything okay?”

Harry nods, coming over and leaning against the railing just as Louis was doing. He can see the land that Liam talked about, there just at the edge of the horizon.

“How did you become a pirate?” he asks after a moment, keeping his gaze steady on the horizon and very much _not_ at Louis.

There’s a long silence after he asks, and Harry is close to apologising and scurrying off to hide, but-”

"My sister,” Louis says, his voice low and quiet. “She was sick, and they said it was the city air. That she'd not live much longer if we didn't get her to the countryside. But we didn't have money for that, of course we didn't. We were poor, just another overcrowded family living in a house meant for less. But I couldn't just give up. My family was - _is_ my world. So I did the only thing I could think of. I stole a ship."

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he has thoughts. Questions.

"I had heard about pirates, they were legends. Pirates can do anything they want, people said. And you know, it's sort of true and sort of not, but all I knew at the time was that there didn't seem like another option. I found people, people who had things that they needed that society couldn’t give them, added them to my crew one by one and the boats we stole got bigger and bigger. We'd always leave the people we stole from with the boat we had been sailing in. Never stranded them or anything." He looks sideways at Harry. "I know what we did wasn't good, I knew it when I was doing it. But you don't understand. It didn't feel like I had a _choice._ Lottie was dying and nothing was going to be worth anything if she wasn't here. So we grew until the crew was big enough to man a ship for four months, and we set out for the Caribbean.

"It was so rough, that first voyage. We mis-timed and mis-calculated and the last month we ate nothing but bread and stale water because we ran out of everything else. Steve and Oli both got sick from the still-water and I worried every day that I doomed everyone. But when we finally got here, finally saw the calm blue waters and the palm trees and beaches, and we had enough to set my family up with a house… It was all worth it, Harry. Lottie's alive and safe. They're all safe. I would do anything to make sure they stay that way.”

Harry thinks of his mum and sister, and the bitterness in his gut is only there for a moment before it's gone, washed away by Louis's words. Because Harry thinks he would have wanted to do the same. He wouldn't have been brave enough, by any means, but he would have wanted to be.

To have been able to save them.

“My sister’s name was Gemma,” he says. “And my mum was Anne.”

Louis stays silent but Harry knows he’s listening. He’s not told anyone this. Hasn’t had anyone to tell.

“I loved them more than anything. I never really - well, I had been young. But I had never had thoughts of finding a woman and leaving them. They had been my whole world. When _The Modest_ came through, they demanded something the townspeople couldn’t give, and they got angry. Started fires everywhere, burned all the businesses down. We lived above the bakery. I shouldn’t’ve- I barely made it out, but Simon was there, and he told me I could come with him or he’d slit my throat right there.”

“Bastard,” Louis whispers.

“I was in shock,” Harry says. “I didn’t want to die, but sometimes after that, I wished that I had chosen the other option. They weren’t… They weren’t kind. None of those pirates had a kind bone in their body. They were built of greed and anger and malice.

“I tried to escape only once, when there were women aboard and everyone was drunk. They still caught me. Dragged me back and every one of them helped give me the butterfly on my stomach.”

He swallows, tears stinging his eyes. “My only reason for anything was in the hope that I would get revenge one day.”

“You will,” Louis says. “Or I will. They’ll die, every one of them.”

Harry smiles, looking down at his hands. “I just- I wanted you to know. I’m not perfect. I’m alive because I felt like any other option would be letting them win.”

Louis moves closer, Harry shivers as he feels their shoulders touch. He lets his left hand drop, feels it brush against Louis’s arm.

“That’s okay,” Louis says, voice soft. “Just because that’s how it’s been doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be. If- if you wanted to come with us, you could be here because you want to be. I don’t know if that’s what you want, but…” he clears his throat. “We don’t have to let our pasts define our future. That’s what freedom is. The freedom to change who we are.”

Harry’s not sure if he agrees, but he’s willing to try. “Can I ask a favour?”

“Anything,” Louis agrees immediately.

“If I… join your crew, can I get the tattoo anywhere I want?”

“Of course,” Louis says immediately. Their shoulders brush again, and Harry feels Louis’s fingers against his own. It’s purposeful and electric, more than he ever expected from skin touching skin.

“I’d like that,” Harry says.

“Are you sure?” Louis’s hand is flat against his own now. “You haven’t even seen the island yet, you might change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Harry says. “I’ve spent a long time dreaming of home, and I’m not settled yet, but I think I might have found something here.”

Their fingers intertwine, only ever so slightly. A whole lot of Harry wants to pull his hand back, fear in his heart, but a whole lot of Harry wants to grab and hold on forever.

He chooses to be brave, just one more time.

— - —

The sandy shores are bright and warm, even as storm clouds are beginning to roll in overhead. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the wind rustles through the palm trees and tall grass, playing its own summer song.

Louis walks along the edge of the water, watching the tide pools begin to overflow. The storm should bring cooler weather but right now it’s hot enough that he’s only wearing his trousers, even his captain’s hat has been left behind.

Harry _said_ he was coming. He _said_ he would be just a minute, but when Louis last saw him he was still talking to Lottie, helping her peel potatoes. He doesn’t have to be the cook _all the time,_ Louis finds himself repeating. _Come on, Hazza,_ he had said. _You’re the best cook the_ Lady Charlotte _has ever had but she’s anchored just off shore, let someone else make dinner for once!_

Harry had laughed and said that Louis kept his captain’s hat on even when he was in his mum’s home, so he shouldn’t be so hypocritical.

(That’s definitely not why he left he hat behind, no way).

They’re only here for another week before they set sail for cooler shores again, and Louis wants to make the most of it. Most of the crew are already itching to get going, but bless their hearts they are _trying_ to be patient so Louis can’t fault them.

“I’m here! Sorry!”

Louis slows to a stop as he hears Harry’s pounding footsteps.

 _“Sorry,_ Lottie was just talking about the baby and then he woke up and she was still peeling potatoes but he really needed a change, so I-”

“I know you love the baby more than you love me, Hazza, it’s okay,” Louis says. He links their hands together, squeezing tightly.

“I do _not-”_ Harry argues.

“You do, but don’t worry. Tommy loves him more than you so it wall works out.” He laughs and Harry untangles their fingers long enough to re-tie the bandana around his curls. They’ve grown longer, and now with the wind from the storm picking up they’re being blown every which way.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Harry asks when he’s gotten it all straightened out and grabbed ahold of Louis’s hand again. They’ve begun walking, both barefoot at the water’s edge. “Specifically what did you want to talk about out here so that your family couldn’t overhear?”

Louis laughs. “I just didn’t want to make it awkward!” he argues. He turns and looks at Harry, taking in his appearance. He’s shirtless as well, his blouse tied around his waist over his breeches. The two swallows that live below his collarbones are perfect, covering any hint of the original scars.

Six months ago Harry had asked to get the butterfly across his stomach inked in as well. Louis has refused at first, but Harry had insisted it was something he felt like he had to do. It was a way to remember where he had come from - not just a scar to show he was a survivor, but a tattoo to tell a story. He’s learned he loves the look of ink on his skin, and Louis can admit he feels the same.

The butterfly is more intricate than anyone on Simon’s ship ever had done anyway, Louis made sure of that. Inside of it are names, artfully woven into the wings. _Gemma, Anne_ are largest. Then, around the edges, the crew today. _Bebe, Steve, Nick, Niall, Liam, Louis, Perrie, Oli…_ Louis has spent hours tracing the writing on that tattoo with his fingers.

He looks infinitely healthier, _happier_ than he was a year ago, the first time he set foot on these shores. A broken but reborn man.

“I wanted to ask,” Louis says, feeling nervous. “I mean. You can say no, of course. But I was wondering if you would…” he trails off, but Harry’s hand grips his tighter. Reassuring.

“Yes?”

“I want to get tattoos,” Louis blurts out.

Harry stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Okay?” he says. “I mean. We have tattoos. Are we starting a new pirate crew? Is that what’s happening here?”

“No,” Louis says, backtracking. “I mean. I want just you and I to get tattoos. We can’t get married of course, not really. But I want you to know that you’re it for me. You’re all that I want. I want tattoos to show it. Like a wedding ring.”

Harry slows to a stop and Louis stops with him. His heart thuds in his chest at a painful clip. He worries he might just pass out. That would be very ungentleman-ly.

“Yes,” Harry says quietly. And then louder, “Of course. Always.”

“Oh thank the Lord in high heaven,” Louis says, and then wraps his arms around Harry, nosing at the corner of his jawline. He smells like grass and peeled potatoes and saltwater.

He tries to kiss up Harry’s jaw, from his ear to his mouth, but Harry is impatient and meets their lips long before he gets their. Even after more than half a year of kisses, Louis still treasures every one.

“Tattoos,” says Harry, grinning against Louis’s lips even as he tries to keep kissing him. “You love me.”

“I love you,” says Louis, his hands feelings the movement of Harry’s bare shoulder blades. “You love me?”

“I love you,” says Harry. “My captain.”

Louis is more than aware that Niall already knew of this plan and already told the entire crew (much to his chagrin), but he figures as long as he can keep Harry here on this beach with him, they can kiss in peace and celebrate the moment before they have to head home to whatever raucous party Niall has been planning.

Not that he minds, honestly. He’s going to spend the rest of his life sailing the seas with Harry until they’re old and grey, and he couldn’t have asked for a better crew to do it with.

 

                 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155129156@N06/40653853945/in/dateposted-public/)                         

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe you made it through this whole fic, thank you so much!
> 
> My tumblr is [LondonFoginaCup](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com), and my post for this fic is [here](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/173074331509/lead-butterfly-ladylondonderry-featuring).
> 
> Keri's art post can be found [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/173074415276/lead-butterfly-written-by-londonfoginacup-art-by), go ahead and give that a reblog!


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